Morton smiled. "From your account," he said, "the social struggle is rather a tragedy than a comedy; and I confess it has hitherto struck me as not without a suggestion of farce." "It is absurd, isn't it?" she returned, smiling back. "And are we not a very snobbish lot? Jimmy declares that society in New York is almost as snobbish as it is in London even." There was a moment of silence, and then Morton asked, a little stiffly, "How is Mr. Suydam? You know I have never had the pleasure of meeting him." "Haven't you?" Mrs. Suydam responded. "You can see him soon. He's to drive George Western's coach. There they come now!" A trumpet sounded; a gate in the railing at the Fourth Avenue end of the building was opened; and a coach was driven into the arena. A very stout man sat on the box alone. Mrs. Suydam raised her long-handled eye-glass and looked at the approaching coachman. "Oh, that's not Jimmy," she said, quickly; "of course not. That's the man they call The Adipose Deposit." The trumpet sounded again, and a second coach was turned into the arena. The four horses were beautifully matched bays. The driver was a tall, thin, youngish man, who sat impassible on the box, and gave no sign of annoyance when a wheel of the vehicle rasped the gate-post. "That's Mr. Suydam," said the lady to whom Morton was talking, as the bays trotted briskly past them, the man on the box holding himself rigidly and handling the ribbons skilfully. "He is quite a professional," Morton remarked. "Isn't he?" Mrs. Suydam replied. "You know he drove the Brighton coach out of London for three years. He really does it very well, they all say. I've told him that if we ever lost our money he would make a very superior coachman." "Those bays go together admirably," the college professor declared, "and Mr. Suydam handles them superbly. But how pitiful it is to see their tails docked!" "Oh, they do that in England," she explained, "so it's fashionable. But it is ugly, isn't it? Do you remember what a lovely long tail that Kentucky mare had, the one I rode that day--" Then Mrs. Suydam paused suddenly. "Yes," answered Morton, not looking at her, "I remember it." Mrs. Suydam conquered her slight embarrassment and gave a light little laugh. "How rude I have been!" she said. "Here I've been talking about myself and about my husband, and I haven't asked about you. Are you married yet?" "No," he answered, and now he looked at her, and she blushed again; "and I am not likely ever to marry, I think. There was only one woman in the world for me, and I told her so, but she didn't care for me at all, and she told me so--and then she touched up that Kentucky mare and rode away with my heart hanging at her saddle-bow." "You can find a better woman than she is," was her response; "a woman who will make you a better wife than she would ever have done."