“IAM going to introduce you to such a nice woman,” Mrs. Barfleur told me the second morning I was in Rome, in her very enthusiastic way. “She is charming. I am sure you will like her. She comes from America somewhere—New York, I think. Her husband is an author, I believe. I heard so.” She chattered¹ on in her genial², talk-making way. “I don’t understand these American women; they go traveling about Europe without their husbands in such a strange way. Now, you know in England we would not think of doing anything of that kind.”

 

Mrs. Barfleur was decidedly conservative in her views and English in manner and speech, but she had the saving proclivity⁴ of being intensely interested in life, and realized that all is not gold that glitters. She preferred to be among people who know and maintain good form, who are interested in maintaining the social virtues⁵ as they stand accepted and who, if they do not actually observe all of the laws and tenets of society, at least maintain a deceiving pretense⁶. She had a little coterie⁷ of friends in the hotel, as I found, and friends outside, such as artists, newspaper correspondents and officials connected with the Italian court and the papal court. I never knew a more industrious⁸ social mentor⁹ in the shape of a woman, though among men her son outstripped¹⁰ her. She was apparently¹¹ here, there and everywhere about the hotel, in the breakfast-room, in the dining-room, in the card-room, in the writing-room, greeting her friends, planning games, planning engagements, planning sightseeing328 trips. She was pleasant, too;

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