allegory. Let a poem be but considered an allegory, and there is no
limit to the changes which may be rung upon it, not even Mrs.
Malaprop's banks of the Nile restraining the creature's headstrong
ranging. Only a failure of the fancy of the interpreter can afford a
check, and as everybody reads fiction nowadays, few people are without
a goodly supply of fancies, either original or acquired.

Although Fenton had declined to go to Mrs. Gore's with his wife, he had
finished his cigar when the carriage was announced, and decided to
accompany her, after all. The parlors were filling when they arrived,
and Arthur, who knew how to select good company, managed to secure a
seat between Miss Elsie Dimmont, a young and rather gay society girl,
and Mrs. Frederick Staggchase, a descendant of an old Boston family,
who was called one of the cleverest women of her set.

"Is Mr. Fenwick going to read?" he asked of the latter, glancing about
to see who was present.

"Yes," Mrs. Staggchase answered, turning toward him with her
distinguished motion of the head and high-bred smile. "Don't you like
him?"

"I never had the misfortune to hear him. I know he detests me, but then
I fear, that like olives and caviare, I have to be an acquired taste."

"Acquired tastes," she responded, with that air of being amused by
herself which always entertained Fenton, "are always the strongest."

"And generally least to a man's credit," he retorted quickly. "What is
he going to inflict upon us?"