MARGARET had been, from the first, eager to hear Decourcy’s criticism of the Gastons, and when she found herself seated by her cousin’s side, in the train on the way to Baltimore, with the prospect of an hour’s tÊte-À-tÊte before her, she felt sure he would volunteer his impressions. She only hoped that he would remember that, in spite of all, she really liked them, and that he would refrain from speaking too resentfully on the subject. She was full of unuttered criticism herself, but a feeling of loyalty to the friends who had shown her so much kindness deterred her from introducing the topic. It soon appeared, however, that Mr. Decourcy had no intention of speaking of it at all. Of course they talked about the Gastons, but it was only in incidental allusions, and, after all, it was Margaret who invited his criticism by saying directly:“What do you think of them, Alan?”

“Oh, pretty well,” he answered lightly. “The General is a little heavy, but his wife has vivacity enough to counterbalance him, and I should say the brother is a fine fellow.”

Margaret’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. Forgetting all her good resolutions, now that she and her cousin had so decidedly shifted positions, she said excitedly:

“Why, Alan, I supposed you thought him simply intolerable.”

Her cousin, in his turn, looked surprised.

“You know him better than I,” he said, “and it may be that that is his real character; but I met him at the club the other night and was rather struck with him. It may be all surface, however. He is a good-looking fellow—and has very good manners.”

“Good manners! Oh, Alan! His conduct, the first time you met him, was really terrible; it filled me with shame for him.”

“Oh yes; I remember that very well,” said Decourcy, quietly; “but I rather fancied, from certain signs, that that was mostly due to his being at odds with you, in some way. Yes,” he went on, looking faintly amused at the reminiscence, “he evidently intended to annihilate me, but when he saw that he had better not think of it, I must say he gave up with a good grace, and since then he has done everything in his power to manifest an intention to be civil. In this condition of affairs, I find him a very likeable, intelligent fellow.”

“And you bear him no grudge for the manner in which he treated you?”

“My dear Daisy! what’s the use of bearing grudges? Life is much too short. And besides, a great many people are like that.”

“What sort of people? Vulgar people and ignorant people, I suppose!”

“Well, not necessarily. I have often seen such conduct from people whom I could not, on the whole, call either ignorant or vulgar. It seems to be the instinct with some men to consider every stranger a blackguard, until he has proved himself not to be one.”“It is abominable,” said Margaret; “perfectly barbarous! Such people have no right to claim to be civilized.”

“In point of fact, it is only a very small class, my dear, who can justly lay claim to that estate. I understand your feeling. How it carries me back! I used to feel much as you do, before I went out into the world.”

“I should think a knowledge of the world would make one more fastidious instead of less so,” said Margaret, sturdily.

“I think you are wrong in that. One learns to take things as they come, and loses the notion of having all things exactly to one’s taste.”

“But surely such flagrant impoliteness as Mr. Gaston’s would be condemned anywhere,” said Margaret. “You should have seen his treatment of Major King.”

She then proceeded to give a spirited account of that episode, to her cousin’s manifest interest and amusement.

“And how your hot Southern blood did tingle!” he commented, as she ended her recital. “You felt as if a crime had been committed in your sight, which it was your sacred duty to avenge—did you not? I had such feelings once myself, and perhaps, in both our cases, they may be traced to the same cause. Constant observation of such a model as your father presents would put most of the world at a disadvantage. There is a fineness of grain in him that one meets with but rarely anywhere. With him the feeling is that every man must be regarded and treated as a gentleman, until he has proved himself not to be one. It is a better way. But I think, after all, Margaret, that absolute good-breeding is a thing we must look for in individuals, and not in classes. It certainly does not exist in any class with which I have been thrown, and I cannot quite see how it could, as long as our social system of standards and rewards remains what it is. Do you remember a clever squib in Punch, Àpropos of all this?”

Margaret shook her head.“I very rarely see Punch,” she said.

“It represents a conversation on the deck of an ocean steamer, between a beautiful American girl, returning from Europe, and several Englishmen, who are grouped about her. One of these is saying: ‘Now, Miss ——, do tell us. You’ve travelled a great deal, and seen the world, where have you met with the most elegant, refined, and high-bred men and women?’ ‘Among your British aristocracy,’ replies the young lady, frankly. Her response is greeted with a flutter of delight by the group, and their spokesman puts another question: ‘Now tell us, on the other hand,’ he says, ‘where you have met with the greatest ill-breeding and vulgarity.’ The answer comes as promptly as before: ‘Among your British aristocracy.’ That,” proceeded Decourcy, after waiting for Margaret’s ready tribute of appreciation, “according to my own small experience, states the case exactly, and, with certain limitations, the same thing is true of the aristocracy of every country. A low-born ignoramus could never be the finished snob that a man of some enlightenment may be; he wouldn’t know how. But confess, Margaret,—hot little rebel as you are!—have you never encountered the elements of snobbishness among your own people?”

“Yes; but I always supposed it came from ignorance and was greatly due to the fact that, since the war, our people have had so little opportunity of seeing the world, and have become insulated and prejudiced in consequence.”

“There is something in that; but it was always so, I fancy, more or less. We are by nature and habit a self-opinionated race, with certain honorable exceptions, of course. But this I will say—by way of a little private swagger between ourselves—that I think we are a courteous people, indeed the most courteous I have known, with more inherent good-feeling for others. That ought to comfort you.”

“Yes,” said Margaret, rather wistfully; “but there are so many other things. Our people are so indolent, it seems to me—at least since the war.”

“You always make me laugh, Daisy, when you introduce that little phrase, ‘since the war.’ You seem to find in it a satisfactory excuse for all the delinquencies of your beloved people. But the South, my sweet cousin, has never been a Utopia, any more than other lands. Wheat and tares must grow together everywhere.”

“I am glad you call them my beloved people,” said Margaret, after a little silence. “At home they do not think me very patriotic.”

“Whom do you mean by ‘they’?”

“I was thinking of Charley Somers——”

“Oh, by-the-way, I meant to ask about that pretty young fellow,” said Decourcy. “I used to make him very angry by telling him he ought to induce Bassett to take a newspaper, and suggesting that the name of the town should be changed to Cosmopolis. I am afraid Charley never loved me. I shudder still at the remembrance of the scowls he would cast upon me whenever I went near you. How is he?”

“Very well,” said Margaret; “not changed at all.”

“He hasn’t followed my advice about the paper, then? How about his voice? It bid fair to be superb. I hope it has developed well.”

“I don’t think it has developed at all,” said Margaret. “Certainly it has had no training worthy the name. It is a shame to see him throwing that magnificent gift away. I have thought of it so much, in hearing Mr. Gaston sing. He has no voice at all, compared to Charley’s, but he has spent such patient labor on its cultivation that his method is exquisite, and his singing would charm any one. Isn’t it a fine thing to think how he worked over it, while all the time he was studying hard at his profession too.”

“So Gaston is lucky enough to have won your approbation, in one quarter, at least, though he does come under your ban in another,” said Decourcy. “You are exacting, Margaret, and severe in your ideals: I foresee that I shall be afraid of you. It would be interesting to make the acquaintance of the lucky man who is destined to command your entire approval, and win your fair hand.”

Margaret laughed brightly:

“Cousin Eugenia says I shall never marry,” she answered; “she says I expect as much as if I were an heiress, and a beauty, and an intellectual prodigy, all in one. But I tell her my comfort is that the sort of man I should care for invariably falls in love with his inferior.”

At this point the train glided into the station, and the conversation between the cousins came to an end.