"Mrs. Johnstone Miller is a very superior woman. It is a great thing to hear her criticise Longfellow, Whittier, Eugene Field, Will Carlton, and the rest. I am sure she believes that she could easily excel each in their own department, if she were not prevented by her high-bred exclusiveness." "Not unlikely, Rose; there is no impertinence like the impertinence of mediocrity." "_Mediocrity!_ Why, Harry, Mrs. Johnstone Miller is worth all of three million dollars, and it is very good of her to interest herself about literature at all." And with these words Mrs. Filmer rose, and Harry gave her his arm, and the little party strolled slowly round the piazzas, and so through the blue _portières_ into the drawing-room. And as Adriana did so, she had a vivid memory of Harry Filmer as she first saw him, standing between the pale draperies. They had emphasized his black hair and eyes and garments very distinctly; for the young man was physically "dark," even the vivid coloring of his face being laid upon a skin more brown than white. Mrs. Filmer made herself comfortable in the easiest of easy chairs, and began mechanically to turn and change the many rings upon her fingers; the act being evidently a habit, conducive to reflection or rest. She told Harry to "go away and smoke his cigar"; but the young man said he "was saving the pleasure until the moon rose; and in the meantime," he added, "he should expect the ladies to amuse him. Rose was talking of the greatest poets of the age," he said, "but I am wondering what possible use we can have for poetry. Our age is so distinctively material and epicurean." Then Adriana asserted that it was precisely in such conditions poetry became an absolute necessity. Poetry only could refine views that would become gross without it; and give a tinge of romance to manners ready to become heartless and artificial. The discussion was kept up with much spirit and cleverness, though diverging continually to all kinds of "asides," and Mrs. Filmer, with half-closed eyes, watched and listened, and occupied her mind with far different speculations. Then there was some music; Rose played in her faultlessly brilliant manner; and Harry sang _The Standard Bearer_, and Adriana sang a couple of ballads. And by this time the moon had risen, and Harry brought woolen wraps, and the two girls walked with him, while he smoked more than one cigar. At first, the promenade was to a quickstep of chatter and laughter; but as the glorious moonshine turned earth into heaven, their steps became slower, their laughter died away, feeling grew apace, speech did not seem necessary, and a divine silence that felt even motion to be a wrong was just beginning to enthrall each young, impressible heart.