I have decided, Philander, that he ought to go into the diplomatic service."
"Oh, Lord!"
"I don't blame you for saying 'Oh, Lord,' if you think I mean the American diplomatic service," she said, smiling. "That, of course, is not even to be considered. He must aim higher than that. I know it is a vulgar expression, but there is no class to the American embassies abroad. Compare our embassies with any of the other—"
"But, my dear, you forget that—"
"They are made up largely of men who have sprung from the most ordinary walks in life,—men totally unfitted for the social position that— Please do not argue. Philander. You know perfectly well that what I say is true. I shouldn't think of letting Stuyvesant enter the American diplomatic service. Do you remember that dreadful person who came to see us in Berlin,—about the trunks we sent up from Paris by grande vitesse? Well, just think of Stuyvesant—"
"He was a clerk from the U. S. Consul's office," he interrupted doggedly. "Nothing whatever to do with the embassy. Besides, we can't—"
"It doesn't matter. I have been giving it a great deal of thought lately, trying to decide which is the best service for Stuyvesant to enter. The English diplomatic corps in this country is perfectly stunning, and so is the French,—and the Russian, for that matter. He doesn't speak the Russian language, however, so I suppose we will have to—"
"See here, my dear,—listen to me," he broke in
