“The fact is that in municipal matters the ballot ought to be put on a property basis, and until that is done, I shall bother myself precious little about it,” remarked the third young gentleman, twirling his seal and addressing his three feminine listeners. I wondered why Mildred’s cheeks had grown so rosy and why her dark eyes had such a gleam in them as she laid down the bit of embroidery on which her fingers had been busy, and turned toward the speaker. “What a profile!” I thought; “almost pure Greek, only the chin is a little too square.” “The truth is,” the young man continued, “we have no great men now and no great issues, unless you call all this frenzy about the school question a great issue. We’ve got to come to see that the government has no right to tax its citizens to teach history, anyway. It’s an imposition to tax a man to send some one else’s child to a high school. Let the state give a child the three R’s, and then if he wants to learn about Tetzel or Luther, let his father pay to have him taught in his own way. Politics is no profession for a young man. There’s no great amount of money in it, unless you’re mighty shrewd, and tricky, too; and as for fame, the man must be pretty thick-skinned who can stand the pelting which every reputation gets nowadays, and not wince under it. For my part, I think democracy is a good deal played out. It was all right so long as men _were_ equal; but we’re getting about as stratified a society now as there is anywhere in the Old World; and there’s no use in the sentimental every-man-a-brother kind of talk. I don’t propose to shake the greasy hand of any of these beastly foreigners that are coming here and crowding us to the wall. I don’t grudge them the rights of American citizenship; they may have it and welcome, if they want it; but where they step in I step out. In fact, I think I shall settle down in Paris or Florence for a while. There’s lots more fun for a fellow over there.” There was more of this sort of talk. I watched Mildred’s face, and noticed that her lips were twitching and her fingers playing nervously with the fringe of a scarlet silk shawl which she wore. Evidently she was under some stress of strong emotion, though for what reason I but vaguely guessed. She had come out of the shadow, and stood tall and stately, with her arm resting on the mantel and her eyes fixed on the speakers with such a look as I had never before seen on any countenance. There was anger and pity and contempt, strangely mingled, on her mobile features. She had forgotten herself, and I think they were fairly startled at the look they read in her tell-tale face. Will made an attempt to change the subject, but Mr. Mather broke in: “You look as though you did not agree with us, Miss Brewster. Come, we have monopolized the conversation so far, now tell us what _you_ think.”