"Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their attitude towards women."
"They are perfect dears," said Mrs. Makely, "and here comes one of the best of them."
At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her shoulders. "Whose character is that your blasting?" he asked, jocosely.
"Where in the world did you find it?" she asked, meaning the shawl.
"It was where you left it: on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to take my life in my hand, when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. There must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I pity them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal better time. They've got their clubs, and they've got the theatre, and when the weather gets too much for them, they can run off down to the shore for the night. The places anywhere within an hour's ride are full of fellows. The girls don't have to dance with one another there, or with little boys. Of course, that's all right if they like it better." He laughed at his wife, and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of his irony.
"Then the young gentlemen whom the young
