“I am glad that we have not to bid Ketchum good-by here,” said Sir Robert.  “Such a hearty, genial fellow!  And how kind he has been to us!  His hospitality is the true one; not merely so much food and drink and moneyed outlay for some social or selfish end, but the entertainment of friends because they are friends, with every possible care for their pleasure and comfort, and the most unselfish willingness to do anything that can contribute to either.  I am afraid he would not find many such hosts as himself with us.  We entertain more than the Americans, but I do not think we have as much of the real spirit of hospitality as a nation.  The relation between host and guest is less personal, there is little sense of obligation, or rather sacredness, on either side, and the convenience, interest, or amusement of the Amphitryon is more apt to be considered, as a general thing, than the pleasure of the guest:  at least this has been growing more and more the case in the last twenty years, as our society has broken away from old traditions and levelled all its barriers, to the detriment of our social graces, not to speak of our morals and manners.  As for that charmingly gentle, sweet woman Mrs. Ketchum, it is my opinion that we are not likely to improve on that type of Englishwoman.  A modest, simple, religious creature, a thorough gentlewoman, and a devoted wife and mother.  My cousin Guy Rathbone is engaged to a specimen of a new variety,—­one of the ‘emancipated,’ forsooth; a woman who has a betting-book instead of a Bible and plays cards all day Sunday.  He tells me that she is wonderfully clever, and that it is all he can do to keep her from running about the kingdom delivering lectures on Agnosticism; as if one wanted one’s wife to be a trapesing, atheistical Punch-and-Judy!  And the fellow seemed actually pleased and flattered.  He told me that she had ’an astonishing grasp of such subjects’ and was ‘attracting a great deal of attention.’  And I told him that if I had a wife who attracted attention in such ways I would lock her up until she came to her senses and the public had forgotten her want of modesty and discretion.  This ought to be called the Age of Fireworks.  The craze for notoriety is penetrating our very almshouses, and every toothless old mumbler of ninety wants to get himself palmed off as a centenarian in the papers and have a lot of stuff printed about him.”

“I see what you mean, Robert,” said Miss Noel, “and it certainly cannot be wholesome for women to thirst for excitement, and one would think a lady would shrink from being conspicuous in any way; but things are very much changed, as you say.  And I agree with you in your estimate of the Ketchums.  She is a sweet young thing, and I heartily like him.  Only think! his last act was to send a great basket of fine fruits up to my room, and quite an armful of railway-novels for the journey.  Such beautiful thought for our comfort as they have shown!”