Diana’s cheeks were burning.  She naturally resented such ridicule, having been born to regard social distinction with awe and reverence.  Inwardly resolving to make Miss Patricia Doyle regret the speech she hid all annoyance under her admirable self-control and answered with smooth complacency: 

“Your estimate of society, my dear Miss Doyle, is superficial.”

“Don’t I know it, then?” exclaimed Patsy.  “Culture and breeding, similarity of taste and intellectual pursuits will always attract certain people and band them together in those cliques which are called ‘social sets,’ They are not secret societies; they have no rules of exclusion; congenial minds are ever welcome to their ranks.  This is a natural coalition, in no way artificial.  Can you not appreciate that, Miss Doyle?”

“Yes, indeed,” admitted Patsy, promptly.  “You’re quite right, and I’m just one of those stupid creatures who criticise the sun because there’s a cloud before it.  Probably there are all grades of society, because there are all grades of people.”

“I thought you would agree with me when you understood,” murmured Diana, and her expression was so smug and satisfied that Patsy was seized with an irresistible spirit of mischief.

“And haven’t I seen your own pictures in the Sunday papers?” she asked.

“Perhaps; if you robbed your maid of her pleasure.”

“And very pretty pictures they were, too.  They showed culture and breeding all right, and the latest style in gowns.  Of course those intellectual high-brows in your set didn’t need an introduction to you; you were advertised as an example of ultra-fashionable perfection, to spur the ambition of those lower down in the social scale.  Perhaps it’s a good thing.”

“Are you trying to annoy me?” demanded Diana, her eyes glaring under their curling lashes.

“Dear me—­dear me!” cried Patsy, distressed, “see how saucy and impudent I’ve been—­and I didn’t mean a bit of it!  Won’t you forgive me, please, Miss Von Taer?  There! we’ll begin all over again, and I’ll be on my good behavior.  I’m so very ignorant, you know!”

Diana smiled at this; it would be folly to show resentment to such a childish creature.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “I have been unable to escape the vulgar publicity thrust upon me by the newspapers.  The reporters are preying vultures, rapacious for sensation, and have small respect for anyone.  I am sure we discourage them as much as we can.  I used to weep with mortification when I found myself ‘written up’; now, however, I have learned to bear such trials with fortitude—­if not with resignation.”  “Forgive me!” said Patsy, contritely.  “Somehow I’ve had a false idea of these things.  If I knew you better, Miss Von Taer, you’d soon convert me to be an admirer of society.”

“I’d like to do that, Miss Doyle, for you interest me.  Will you return my call?”

“Indeed I will,” promised the girl, readily.  “I’m flattered that you called on me at all, Miss Von Taer, for you might easily have amused yourself better.  You must be very busy, with all the demands society makes on one.  When shall I come?  Make it some off time, when we won’t be disturbed.”