but it was a gratification to her to detect this failing, and to
perceive her opportunity for usefulness. Surely it was important for her
husband to be progressive and not merely a dreamer.

Littleton looked from one to the other fondly. "Not many men are blessed
with the love of two such women," he said. "I put myself in your hands.
I bow my neck to the yoke."

In New York in the early seventies the fashionable quarter lay between
Eighth and Fortieth Streets, bounded on either side by Fourth and Sixth
Avenues. Central Park was completed, but the region west of it was, from
the social stand-point, still a wilderness, and Fifth Avenue in the
neighborhood of Twenty-third Street was the centre of elegant social
life. Selma took her first view of this brilliant street on the
following day on her way to hunt for houses in the outlying district.
The roar and bustle of the city, which thrilled yet dazed her, seemed
here softened by the rows of tall, imposing residences in brown stone.
Along the sunny sidewalks passed with jaunty tread an ever-hurrying
procession of stylishly clad men and women; and along the roadbed sped
an array of private carriages conducted by coachmen in livery. It was a
brilliant day, and New Yorkers were making the most of it.

Selma had never seen such a sight before. Benham faded into
insignificance in comparison. She was excited, and she gazed eagerly at
the spectacle. Yet her look, though absorbed, was stern. This sort of
thing was unlike anything American within her personal experience. This
avenue of grand houses and this procession of fine individuals and fine
vehicles made her think of that small section of Benham into which she
had never been invited, and the thought affected her disagreeably.