you have with you?"

"This is one of Mr. Howells' novels. You will admit, at least, that you
have heard of Howells, I suppose?"

"Heard of him? Oh yes; I have read some of Howells' books. I am not as
ignorant as you seem to think."

"What have you read of Mr. Howells'?"

"Well, I read 'The American,' I don't remember the others."

"'The American!' That is by Henry James."

"Is it? Well, I knew that it was by either Howells or James, I forgot
which. They didn't write a book together, did they?"

"Well, not that I know of. Why, the depth of your ignorance about
American literature is something appalling. You talk of it so jauntily
that you evidently have no idea of it yourself."

"I wish you would take me in hand, Miss Earle. Isn't there any sort of
condensed version that a person could get hold of? Couldn't you give
me a synopsis of what is written, so that I might post myself up in
literature without going to the trouble of reading the books?"

"The trouble! Oh, if that is the way you speak, then your case is
hopeless! I suspected it for some time, but now I am certain. The
trouble! The _delight_ of reading a new novel by Howells is something
that you evidently have not the remotest idea of. Why, I don't know what