“I hate to take the kiddies to New York, Mike,” perhaps some young matron would say simply.  “Percy’s family is one of the old, old families there, you know, shamelessly rich, and terribly exclusive!  And one doesn’t want the children to take themselves seriously yet awhile!”

“Bluffers!” the smiling and interested Miss Brown would say to herself, as she listened.  She listened a great deal; everyone was willing to talk, and she was often amused at the very slight knowledge that could carry a society girl through a conversation.  In Hunter, Baxter & Hunter’s offices there would be instant challenges, even at auntie’s table affectation met its just punishment, and inaccuracy was promptly detected.  But there was no such censorship here.

“Looks like a decent little cob!” some girl would say, staring at rider passing the hotel window, at teatime.

“Yes,” another voice would agree, “good points.  Looks thoroughbred.”

“Yes, he does!  Looks like a Kentucky mount.”

“Louisa!  Not with that neck!”

“Oh, I don’t know.  My grandfather raised fancy stock, you know.  Just for his own pleasure, of course, So I do know a good horse!”

“Well, but he steps more like a racer,” somebody else would contribute.

“That’s what I thought!  Loose-built for a racer, though.”

“And what a fool riding him—­the man has no seat!”

“Oh, absolutely not!  Probably a groom, but it’s a shame to allow it!”

“Groom, of course.  But you’ll never see a groom riding a horse of mine that way!”

“Rather not!”

And, an ordinary rider, on a stable hack, having by this time passed from view, the subject, would be changed.

Or perhaps some social offense would absorb everybody’s attention for the better part of half-an-hour.

“Look, Emily,” their hostess would say, during a call, “isn’t this rich!  The Bridges have had their crest put on their mourning-stationery!  Don’t you love it!  Mamma says that the girls must have done it; the old lady must know better!  Execrable bad taste, I call it.”

“Oh, isn’t that awful!” Emily would inspect the submitted letter with deep amusement.

“Oh, Mary, let’s see it—­I don’t believe it!” somebody else would exclaim.

“Poor things, and they try so hard to do everything right!” Kindly pity would soften the tones of a fourth speaker.

“But you know Mary, they do do that in England,” somebody might protest.

“Oh, Peggy, rot!  Of course they don’t!”

“Why, certainly they do!” A little feeling would be rising.  “When Helen and I were in London we had some friends—­”

“Nonsense, Peggy, it’s terribly vulgar!  I know because Mamma’s cousin—­”

“Oh honestly, Peggy, it’s never done!”

“I never heard of such a thing!”

“You might use your crest in black, Peg, but in color—!”