She took me with her, moving through the quiet South Place with a
leisurely grace and dignity at which my spirit rejoiced; she was so
beautiful, and so easy, and afraid of nothing and nobody! (This must be
modified. I came later to suspect that they all stood in some dread of
their own immediate families.)

In the North, everybody is afraid of something: afraid of the
legislature, afraid of the trusts, afraid of the strikes, afraid of what
the papers will say, of what the neighbors will say, of what the cook
will say; and most of all, and worst of all, afraid to be different from
the general pattern, afraid to take a step or speak a syllable that shall
cause them to be thought unlike the monotonous millions of their
fellow-citizens; the land of the free living in ceaseless fear! Well, I
was already afraid of Mrs. Gregory St. Michael. As we walked and she
talked, I made one or two attempts at conversation, and speedily found
that no such thing was the lady's intention: I was there to listen; and
truly I could wish nothing more agreeable, in spite of my desire to hear
further about next Wednesday's wedding and the brute of a girl. But to
this subject Mrs. St. Michael did not return. We crossed Worship Street
and Chancel Street, and were nearing the East Place where a cannon was
being shown me, a cannon with a history and an inscription concerning the
"war for Southern independence, which I presume your prejudice calls the
Rebellion," said my guide. "There's Mrs. St. Michael now, coming round
the corner. Well, Julia, could you read the yacht's name with your naked
eye? And what's the name of the gambler who owns it? He's a gambler, or
he couldn't own a yacht--unless his wife's a gambler's daughter."

"How well you're feeling to-day, Maria!" said the other lady, with a
gentle smile.