"Ah, I am glad to hear that. You are gathering up a little European
culture; that's what we lack, you know, at home. No individual can
do much, of coarse. But you must not be discouraged; every little
counts."

"I see that you, at least, are doing your part," I rejoined
gallantly, dropping my eyes on my companion's learned volume.

"Yes, I frankly admit that I am fond of study. There is no one,
after all, like the Germans. That is, for facts. For opinions I by
no means always go with them. I form my opinions myself. I am sorry
to say, however," Mrs. Church continued, "that I can hardly pretend
to diffuse my acquisitions. I am afraid I am sadly selfish; I do
little to irrigate the soil. I belong--I frankly confess it--to the
class of absentees."

"I had the pleasure, last evening," I said, "of making the
acquaintance of your daughter. She told me you had been a long time
in Europe."

Mrs. Church smiled benignantly. "Can one ever be too long? We shall
never leave it."

"Your daughter won't like that," I said, smiling too.

"Has she been taking you into her confidence? She is a more sensible
young lady than she sometimes appears. I have taken great pains with
her; she is really--I may be permitted to say it--superbly educated."