were letters, arts, and sciences neglected, nor the mundane and social
patter, accomplishments, and refinements, including poise, pose, and
deportment.

Specialists continued to guide them indoors and out; they rode every
morning at eight with a specialist; they drove in the Park between four
and five with the most noted of four-in-hand specialists; fencing,
sparring, wrestling, swimming, gymnastics, were all supervised by
specialists in those several very important and scientific arts; and
specialists also taught them hygiene: how to walk, sit, breathe; how to
masticate; how to relax after the manner of the domestic cat.

They had memory lessons; lessons in personal physiology, and in first
aid to themselves.

Specialists cared for their teeth, their eyes, their hair, their skin,
their hands and feet.

Everything that was taught them, done for them, indirectly educated them
in the science of self-consideration and deepened an unavoidably natural
belief in their own overwhelming importance. They had not been born so.

But in the house of Seagrave everything revolved around and centred in
them; everything began for them and ended for them alone. They had no
chance.

True, they were also instructed in theology and religion; they became
well grounded in the elements of both,--laws, by-laws, theory, legends,
proverbs, truisms, and even a few abstract truths. But there was no
meaning in either to these little prisoners of self. Seclusion is an