minutes, he was introduced by Mrs. Bonnycastle to one of the young
ladies of whom she had spoken. This was a very intelligent girl who
came from Boston and showed much acquaintance with Spielhagen's
novels. "Do you like them?" Vogelstein asked rather vaguely, not
taking much interest in the matter, as he read works of fiction only
in case of a sea-voyage. The young lady from Boston looked pensive
and concentrated; then she answered that she liked SOME of them VERY
much, but that there were others she didn't like--and she enumerated
the works that came under each of these heads. Spielhagen is a
voluminous writer, and such a catalogue took some time; at the end
of it moreover Vogelstein's question was not answered, for he
couldn't have told us whether she liked Spielhagen or not.

On the next topic, however, there was no doubt about her feelings.
They talked about Washington as people talk only in the place
itself, revolving about the subject in widening and narrowing
circles, perching successively on its many branches, considering it
from every point of view. Our young man had been long enough in
America to discover that after half a century of social neglect
Washington had become the fashion and enjoyed the great advantage of
being a new resource in conversation. This was especially the case
in the months of spring, when the inhabitants of the commercial
cities came so far southward to escape, after the long winter, that
final affront. They were all agreed that Washington was
fascinating, and none of them were better prepared to talk it over
than the Bostonians. Vogelstein originally had been rather out of
step with them; he hadn't seized their point of view, hadn't known
with what they compared this object of their infatuation. But now
he knew everything; he had settled down to the pace; there wasn't a
possible phase of the discussion that could find him at a loss.