Can you imagine, Mamma, spending days in a place like that?  No wonder when they get up town they don’t want to talk.  But Mrs. Van Brounker-Courtfield says everyone is too restless to stay quietly at home in the evenings, and when they have pulled themselves together with a cocktail they have to dress and go out to dine at some restaurant or with friends, and then the theatre.  At first one thinks they are simply angels to their wives, working all day long down town like that—­they seem a race of predestined husbands.  If one wanted a husband who spent his entire day away from one and was too tired when he came in to talk of anything but a few sentences on Wall Street affairs, one would certainly choose a rich American, because he would load one with money and jewels, and absolutely obey one when he was at home, and let one spend most of the time in Europe.  But Mrs. Van Brounker-Courtfield says all that is only a sop to Cerberus, to keep the wives from grumbling at not being made love to like women of other nations are; that all men are hunters, and while ours in England chase foxes and are thrilled with politics the New Yorkers hunt dollars, and it is the same thing.  Wall Street is their adored mistress, and the wives are just their family.  As you were married such ages ago I don’t know if you quite understand what I mean about men, Mamma, and the effect they have on one.  There are creatures who,—­the moment they come into the room you know they are there.  You know it isn’t a woman.  It is not an intellectual or soul feeling, but it is rather lovely, all the same, and although I am furious with Harry and intend to be horrid to him, I must say he has this power stronger than anyone I have ever met; when he is close to me I have a kind of creep of pleasure, and when he kisses those little curls at the back of my neck I feel thrills all down my back.  Do you know what I mean, Mamma?  I have divided men up into two lots.  Those one could go to Australia alone with, and those one couldn’t, and it does not matter in the least their age or looks or station or anything, it is just whether or no they have got this quality.  Well, as far as I have seen, Valerie Latour’s husband and one or two others are the only men who have it here in New York, although lots are very good looking and intelligent, and all are kind; but there is a didactic way of talking, a complete absence of subtlety or romance.—­And even those it would be perfectly safe to go with; because they would not dream of making love to one, but they have the igniting quality in themselves.  Some of the elder men over forty are really attractive and intensely clever, but as everyone is married, one would always have the bore of the wives’ frowns if one played with them.  How I do wander from what I was telling you!