corner.

"Would you very kindly," she said, "move that large fauteuil a little
more this way? Not the largest; the one with the little cushion.
The fauteuils here are very insufficient; I must ask Madame Beaurepas
for another. Thank you; a little more to the left, please; that will
do. Are you particularly engaged?" she inquired, after she had
seated herself. "If not, I should like to have some conversation
with you. It is some time since I have met a young American of your-
-what shall I call it?--your affiliations. I have learned your name
from Madame Beaurepas; I think I used to know some of your people. I
don't know what has become of all my friends. I used to have a
charming little circle at home, but now I meet no one I know. Don't
you think there is a great difference between the people one meets
and the people one would like to meet? Fortunately, sometimes,"
added my interlocutress graciously, "it's quite the same. I suppose
you are a specimen, a favourable specimen," she went on, "of young
America. Tell me, now, what is young America thinking of in these
days of ours? What are its feelings, its opinions, its aspirations?
What is its IDEAL?" I had seated myself near Mrs. Church, and she
had pointed this interrogation with the gaze of her bright little
eyes. I felt it embarrassing to be treated as a favourable specimen
of young America, and to be expected to answer for the great
republic. Observing my hesitation, Mrs. Church clasped her hands on
the open page of her book and gave an intense, melancholy smile.
"HAS it an ideal?" she softly asked. "Well, we must talk of this,"
she went on, without insisting. "Speak, for the present, for
yourself simply. Have you come to Europe with any special design?"

"Nothing to boast of," I said. "I am studying a little."