violinist about whom all New York was talking. The gray-haired man
with the goatee was an admiral. The gentle-spoken, shy man with the
silver hair was a famous Indian fighter of the old frontier days. The
man who spoke informedly of the Children's Theatre was one of the
best-known of American men of letters. The lady who was anxious to
interrogate him about it was one whose fame as an uplifter of humanity
has travelled 'round the globe. This one was a painter, and that one a
sculptor, and another was a poetic dramatist.

"My!" sighed Mary Alice, "I'm glad you _didn't_ tell me before we went.
As nearly as I can remember, I talked to the Admiral about the Fifth
Avenue shopwindows, and to the General about the Jumel Mansion--which
he said he had never seen but had always meant to see--and to the
painter--what _did_ I talk to the painter about? Oh! my pink beads.
He admired the colour."

"Yes," said Godmother, "and if you had known who they were you would
probably have tried to talk to the Admiral about ships and sea-fights,
and to the painter about the Metropolitan Museum, and would have bored
them terribly. Most real people, I think, like to be taken for what
they are rather than for what they may have done. That is one of the
things I learned in my long years in Europe where I was constantly
finding myself in conversation with some one I did not know. We always
began on a basis of common humanity, and we soon found our mutual
interests, and enjoyed talking about them. It taught me a great deal
about people and the folly of taking any of them on other people's
estimates."

But all this was only mildly interesting, now, compared with "the young
man lion."