_Mrs. Curwen_: “’Sh! Mr. Miller is listening. And he thought we were perfect. He asks nothing better than to be sent back for his wife’s fan. And he doesn’t say anything even under his breath when she finds she’s forgotten it, and begins, ‘Oh, dearest, my fan’—Mr. Curwen does. But he goes all the same. I hope you have your father in good training, Miss Lawton. You must commence with your father, if you expect your husband to be ‘good.’” _Miss Lawton_: “Then mine will never behave, for papa is perfectly incorrigible.” _Mrs. Curwen_: “I’m sorry to hear such a bad report of him. Shouldn’t _you_ think he would be ‘good,’ Mr. Bemis?” _Young Mr. Bemis_: “I should think he would try.” _Mrs. Curwen_: “A diplomat, as well as a punster already! I must warn Miss Lawton.” _Mrs. Crashaw_, interposing to spare the young people: “What an amusing thing elevator etiquette is! Why should the gentlemen take their hats off? Why don’t you take your hats off in a horse-car?” _Miller_: “The theory is that the elevator is a room.” _Young Mr. Bemis_: “We were at a hotel in London where they called it the Ascending Room.” _Miss Lawton_: “Oh, how amusing!” _Miller_, looking about: “This is a regular drawing-room for size and luxury. They’re usually such cribs in these hotels.” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Yes, it’s very nice, though I say it that shouldn’t of my niece’s elevator. The worst about it is, it’s so slow.” _Miller_: “Let’s hope it’s sure.” _Young Mr. Bemis_: “Some of these elevators in America go up like express trains.” _Mrs. Curwen_, drawing her shawl about her shoulders, as if to be ready to step out: “Well, I never get into one without taking my life in my hand, and my heart in my mouth. I suppose every one really expects an elevator to drop with them, some day, just as everybody really expects to see a ghost some time.” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Oh, my dear! what an extremely disagreeable subject of conversation.” _Mrs. Curwen_: “I can’t help it, Mrs. Crashaw. When I reflect that there are two thousand elevators in Boston, and that the inspectors have just pronounced a hundred and seventy of them unsafe, I’m so desperate when I get into one that I could—flirt!” _Miller_, guarding himself with the fan: “Not with me?” _Miss Lawton_, to young _Mr. Bemis_: “How it _does_ creep!” _Young Mr. Bemis_, looking down fondly at her: “Oh, does it?” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Why, it doesn’t go at all! It’s stopped. Let us get out.” They all rise. _The Elevator Boy_, pulling at the rope: “We’re not there, yet.” _Mrs. Crashaw_, with mingled trepidation and severity: “Not there? What are you stopping, then, for?” _The Elevator Boy_: “I don’t know. It seems to be caught.” _Mrs. Crashaw_: “Caught?” _Miss Lawton_: “Oh, dear!” _Young Mr. Bemis_: “Don’t mind.” _Miller_: “Caught? Nonsense!” _Mrs. Curwen_: “_We’re_ caught, I should say.” She sinks back on the seat. _The Elevator Boy_: “Seemed to be going kind of funny all day!” He keeps tugging at the rope.