What struck me the most in all this splendor was that so much money should have been expended in furnishing a perishable wooden palace which any tuppenny earthquake or fire could demolish in a moment.  Another thing I noticed was that, though everything else was so handsome and costly, the glass and porcelain were of the most ordinary kind.

We enjoyed ourselves immensely and compared notes when we reached the hotel.  Barring our individual millionaire, we hardly spoke to the others.  We were simply insignificant meteors passing hastily in their midst.

Well, we went to the Senator’s country place.  A carriage with four horses was waiting for us at the station, and we drove up in fine style to the millionaire’s mansion, where some Irish servants with baggy trousers, tumbled cravats, and no gloves opened wide the doors, ushering us into a large hall, where a gentleman whom we guessed was our host came forward to greet us.

We were glad that we were going at last to make his acquaintance.  He is a millionaire and a Senator.  That is all I can say about him at present, except that he is extremely hospitable.  He did not know one of us from the other, except Kasson.  He knew we were a “distinguished party” because the papers said so.  When we were being dealt out to our rooms there was great confusion.  Senator Sharon had an ancient dame de compagnie—­the head priestess—­who made it a particular point to dispose of Miss Clymer before any of the rest of us.  She said, “Which of these gents is your husband?” At which Miss C. blushed and found no other answer than, “None.”  J. and I finally secured the same room, because when Mr. S. in a moment of despair said, with an all-comprehensive wave of his hand, “Gentlemen, please take your wives,” J. and I paired off.  The Senator did not notice this little detail, for when dinner was announced he said to J., “Will you please take that young lady in to dinner?” pointing to me.  Johan explained in which relation he stood to the young lady.  The Senator was not in the least surprised, and merely answered:  “Is that so?  Well, then, take some one else.”

A semi-millionaire took me in.  He told me all his early life of poverty and threw in various reminiscences.  I never knew the like of millionaires for telling you of their former miseries.  They always do!  When the ancient dame saw Mr. Kasson and me talking after dinner, she said to us with a kittenish smile, “Husbands and wives mustn’t talk together.”  Hopeless!  We did not even try to explain.  The evening was forlorn.  There were many dreary drawing-rooms, horribly furnished, but brilliantly lighted.  A brawling musical box was supposed to enliven us.  We talked in that desultory way that one does with people whom you meet for the first time and never want to meet again.  Some of the millionaires hovered among us, but failed to impress us either with their past or present fortunes.  Oh, joy!  Bedtime came at last.