were when I was young. If a senator visited our community, everybody
turned out. I knew much of both these men, and Tom had often spoken
warmly of Depew. As they approached our table, Tom and his friend both
stood up. Thrilled, I rose hastily. My eyes were too busy to see Tom's
face, and I did not realize until afterward that the only other woman
had remained coolly seated.

On our way home, Tom told me, in his gentle way, never to rise from a
dining table to acknowledge an introduction even to a woman--or a
senator. That night a tormenting devil with the face of the other woman
kept me awake. For the first time since my marriage I felt homesick for
the prairies.


And then we were invited to visit Tom's Aunt Elizabeth in Boston and
meet the whole family. I was sick with dread. I begged Tom to tell me
some of the things I should and should not do.

"Be your own sweet self and they 'll love you," he promised, kissing me.
He meant it, dear soul; but I knew better.

From the very first minute, Tom's Aunt Elizabeth made me conscious of
her disapproval. In after years I won the old lady's affection and real
respect, but I never spent a completely happy hour in her presence.

The night we arrived she gave me a formal dinner. Some dozen additional
guests dropped in later, and I was bewildered by new faces and strange
names. Later in the evening I noticed a distinguished-looking
middle-aged gentleman standing alone just outside the drawing-room door.
Hurrying out, I invited him to come in. He inquired courteously if