“There can be no folly, Mr. Stoughton, after marriage, you know. I mean in our set, of course. A thing is either good form or bad form. What is good form may seem foolish to the world at large, and what is bad form may, in reality, be wise. But our motto of _noblesse oblige_ has absolutely nothing to do with folly or wisdom in the abstract. It simply presupposes an obligation on our part to observe certain canons of taste and habits of life that have no relation to wisdom or folly, virtue or vice, progress or retrogression. You know all this, though, as well as I do.” “Only in a general way,” answered Richard, somewhat surprised at her earnestness. He felt that, somehow, she was tempted to treat him in a more confidential way than the duration of their acquaintanceship strictly warranted. “I have had little opportunity, as yet, to study the different phases of New York society.” “But,” she persisted, her face slightly flushed with eagerness, “there is no difference in the social cult of the most exclusive set in New York and that which dominates the inner circle of other cities in what we might call the eastern belt of civilization. That awful Frankenstein called ‘Bad Form,’ a monster created by society, and dogging our steps at all times, is not confined to New York. Haven’t you endured his threatening glances in your New England cities?” “Yes,” confessed Richard; “I know the creature--and, in a certain sense, I suppose I have run away from him. I came here to New York, against my father’s wishes, that I might be free to live my life as my tastes and inclinations inspired me, not as a select few in my native city ordained that I should live it.” With an impetuous gesture Mrs. Percy-Bartlett placed her hand on his for an instant and blushed slightly as their eyes met. “Do you know,” she said, “I feel an almost irresistible inclination to tell you a secret, a secret that all the world knows, but that I have not yet confessed to a human soul.” An odd smile played across her mouth. “I shall feel more flattered than I can tell you,” exclaimed Richard with marked emphasis. “Well, then,” went on Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, “I am a rebel. Remember, Mr. Stoughton, that this is the first time I have ever said this. I hardly know why I have said it to you; but, somehow, I feel thoroughly in touch with you on some points, and you seem more like an old friend than a new acquaintance.”