"Not at all," said Miss Bocock. "It's a natural crystallization. You are
working toward the same sort of thing over here--only not in such a
wholesome way, I think."
Imogen flushed a little. "Our crystallizations, when they aren't
artificially brought about by apings of your civilization, take place
through real superiority and fitness. A woman of your intellectual ability
is anybody's equal in America."
"Oh, as far as that goes, in that sense, I'm anybody's equal in England,
too," said Miss Bocock, unperturbed and unimpressed.
Imogen rather wished she could make her feel that, since crystallizations
were a fact, the Uptons, in that sense, were as much above her as the
Thremdons. Idealist democrat as she counted herself, she had these quick
glances at a standard kept, as it were, for private use; as if, from under
an altar in the temple of humanity, its priest were to draw out for some
personal reassurance a hidden yard-measure.
Tea, when they went down again, was served on the veranda and Imogen could
observe, during its progress, that Miss Bocock showed none of the
disposition to fawn on Sir Basil that one might have expected from a person
of the middle-class. She contradicted him as cheerfully as she did Imogen
herself.
Mr. and Mrs. Potts had gone for a little ramble in the lower woods,
but they soon appeared, Mr. Potts seating himself limply on the steps
and fanning himself with his broad straw hat--a hat that in its very
largeness and looseness seemed to express the inflexible ideals of
non-conformity--while Mrs.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243