of my daughter,--and I may even say, of my son,--talk lightly of the
solitary meetings of young ladies with mechanics, even though their
faces were smutty, and their clothes covered with oil."

The major here muttered something about there being less danger in a
young lady listening to the intelligence of a coarsely-dressed laborer
than to the compliments of a rose-scented fop, but Mrs. Randolph walked
out of the room before he finished the evident platitude.

That night Rose Mallory retired to her room in a state of
sell-satisfaction that she even felt was to a certain extent a virtue.
She was delighted with her reception and with her hostess and family.
It was strange her father had not spoken more of MRS. Randolph, who was
clearly the superior of his old friend. What fine manners they all had,
so different from other people she had known! There was quite an Old
World civilization about them; really, it was like going abroad! She
would make the most of her opportunity and profit by her visit. She
would begin by improving her French; they spoke it perfectly, and with
such a pure accent. She would correct certain errors she was conscious
of in her own manners, and copy Mrs. Randolph as much as possible.
Certainly, there was a great deal to be said of Mrs. Randolph's way
of looking at things. Now she thought of it calmly, there WAS too much
informality and freedom in American ways! There was not enough respect
due to position and circumstances. Take those men in the wheat-field,
for example. Yet here she found it difficult to formulate an indictment
against them for "freedom." She would like to go there some day with the
Randolphs and let them see what company manners were! She was thoroughly
convinced now that her father had done wrong in sending her alone; it
certainly was most disrespectful to them and careless of him (she had
quite forgotten that she had herself proposed to her father to go alone