THE TOUCHSTONE
By Edith Wharton



I


Professor Joslin, who, as our readers are doubtless aware, is
engaged in writing the life of Mrs. Aubyn, asks us to state that
he will be greatly indebted to any of the famous novelist's
friends who will furnish him with information concerning the
period previous to her coming to England. Mrs. Aubyn had so few
intimate friends, and consequently so few regular correspondents,
that letters will be of special value. Professor Joslin's address
is 10 Augusta Gardens, Kensington, and he begs us to say that he
will promptly return any documents entrusted to him."

Glennard dropped the Spectator and sat looking into the fire. The
club was filling up, but he still had to himself the small inner
room, with its darkening outlook down the rainstreaked prospect of
Fifth Avenue. It was all dull and dismal enough, yet a moment
earlier his boredom had been perversely tinged by a sense of
resentment at the thought that, as things were going, he might in
time have to surrender even the despised privilege of boring
himself within those particular four walls. It was not that he
cared much for the club, but that the remote contingency of having
to give it up stood to him, just then, perhaps by very reason of
its insignificance and remoteness, for the symbol of his
increasing abnegations; of that perpetual paring-off that was