except those which, as Ingram had anticipated, such a creature as Mrs.
Lorraine would naturally have found interesting. And he had to
confess to himself that he had lectured his two helpless victims most
unmercifully. He was quite conscious that he sometimes laid down the
law in an authoritative and even sententious manner. On first going
into the house certain things said by Mrs. Lorraine had almost
surprised him into a mood of mere acquiescence; but after luncheon he
had assumed his ordinary manner of tutor in general to the universe,
and had informed those two women, in a distinct fashion, what their
opinions ought to be on half the social conundrums of the day.

He now reflected, with much compunction, that this was highly
improper. He ought to have asked about flower-shows, and inquired
whether the princess of Wales was looking well of late. Some reference
to the last Parisian comedy might have introduced a disquisition
on the new grays and greens of the French milliners, with a passing
mention made of the price paid for a pair of ponies by a certain
marquise unattached. He had not spoken of one of these things:
perhaps he could not if he had tried. He remembered, with an awful
consciousness of guilt, that he had actually discoursed of woman
suffrage, of the public conscience of New York, of the extirpation of
the Indians, and a dozen different things, not only taking no heed
of any opinions that his audience of two might hold, but insisting
on their accepting his opinions as the expression of absolute and
incontrovertible truth.

He became more and more dissatisfied with himself. If he could only go
back now, he would be much more wary, more submissive and complaisant,
more anxious to please. What right had he to abuse the courtesy
and hospitality of these two strangers, and lecture them on the