Nobody

This exclamation was called forth by the sight of a gentleman who justat that moment was entering the car. Apparently he was an oldacquain'tance, for the recognition was eager on both sides. The newcomer took a seat on the other side of Mrs. Wishart.

"Where do you come from," said he, "that I find you here?"

"From the depths of business – Wall Street – and all over; and now thedepths of despair, that we cannot get lunch. I am going home starving."

"What does that mean?"

"Just a contretemps. I promised my young friend here I would give hera good lunch at the best restaurant I knew; and to-day of all days, andjust as we come tired out to get some refreshment, there's a fire andfiremen and all the street in a hubbub. Nothing for it but to go homefasting."

"No," said he, "there is a better thing. You will do me the honour andgive me the pleasure of lunching with me. I am living at the'Imperial,' – and here we are!"

He signalled the car to stop, even as he spoke, and rose to help theladies out. Mrs. Wishart had no time to think about it, and on thesudden impulse yielded. They left the car, and a few steps brought themto the immense beautiful building called the Imperial Hotel. Mr.Dillwyn took them in as one at home, conducted them to the greatdining-room; proposed to them to go first to a dressing-room, but thisMrs. Wishart declined. So they took places at a small table, nearenough to one of the great clear windows for Lois to look down into theAvenue and see all that was going on there. But first the place whereshe was occupied her. With a kind of wondering delight her eye wentdown the lines of the immense room, reviewed its loftiness, itsadornments, its light and airiness and beauty; its perfection ofluxurious furnishing and outfitting. Few people were in it just at thishour, and the few were too far off to trouble at all the sense ofprivacy. Lois was tired, she was hungry; this sudden escape from dinand motion and dust, to refreshment and stillness and a softatmosphere, was like the changes in an Arabian Nights' enchantment. Andthe place was splendid enough and dainty enough to fit into one ofthose stories too. Lois sat back in her chair, quietly but intenselyenjoying. It never occurred to her that she herself might be a worthyobject of contemplation.

Yet a fairer might have been sought for, all New York through. She wasnot vulgarly gazing; she had not the aspect of one strange to theplace; quiet, grave, withdrawn into herself, she wore an air of mostsweet reserve and unconscious dignity. Features more beautiful might befound, no doubt, and in numbers; it was not the mere lines, nor themere colours of her face, which made it so remarkable, but rather themental character. The beautiful poise of a spirit at rest withinitself; the simplicity of unconsciousness; the freshness of a mind towhich nothing has grown stale or old, and which sees nothing in itsconventional shell; along with the sweetness that comes of habitualdwelling in sweetness. Both her companions occasionally looked at her;Lois did not know it; she did not think herself of sufficientimportance to be looked at.

And then came the luncheon. Such a luncheon! and served with a delicacywhich became it. Chocolate which was a rich froth; rolls which werepuff balls of perfection; salad, and fruit. Anything yet moresubstantial Mrs. Wishart declined. Also she declined wine.

"I should not dare, before Lois," she said.

Therewith came their entertainer's eyes round to Lois again.

"Is she allowed to keep your conscience, Mrs. Wishart?"

"Poor child! I don't charge her with that. But you know, Mr. Dillwyn,in presence of angels one would walk a little carefully!"

"That almost sounds as if the angels would be uncomfortablecompanions," said Lois.

"Not quite sans gêne" – the gentleman added, Then Lois's eyes met hisfull.

"I do not know what that is," she said.

"Only a couple of French words."

"I do not know French," said Lois simply.

He had not seen before what beautiful eyes they were; soft and grave, and true with the clearness of the blue ether. He thought he would likeanother such look into their transparent depths. So he asked,

"But what is it about the wine?"

"O, we are water-drinkers up about my home," Lois answered, looking, however, at her chocolate cup from which she was refreshing herself.

"That is what the English call us as a nation, I am sure mostinappropriately. Some of us know good wine when we see it; and most ofthe rest have an intimate acquain'tance with wine or some thing elsethat is not good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop has formed her opinion, andpractice, upon knowledge of this latter kind?"

Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or practice, could havevery little interest for this fine gentleman.

"Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own opinions," Mrs. Wishartremarked.

"But not inconsistent enough to build them on nothing, I hope?"

"I could tell you what they are built on," said Lois, brought out bythis challenge; "but I do not know that you would see from that howwell founded they are."

"I should be very grateful for such an indulgence."

"In this particular case we are speaking of, they are built on twofoundation stones – both out of the same quarry," said Lois, her colourrising a little, while she smiled too. "One is this – 'Whatsoever yewould that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' And theother – 'I will neither eat meat, nor drink wine, nor anything, bywhich my brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made weak.'"

Lois did not look up as she spoke, and Mrs. Wishart smiled withamusement. Their host's face expressed an undoubted astonishment. Heregarded the gentle and yet bold speaker with steady attention for aminute or two, noting the modesty, and the gentleness, and thefearlessness with which she spoke. Noting her great beauty too.

"Precious stones!" said he lightly, when she had done speaking. "I donot know whether they are broad enough for such a superstructure as youwould build on them." And then he turned to Mrs. Wishart again, andthey left the subject and plunged into a variety of other subjectswhere Lois scarce could follow them.

What did they not talk of! Mr. Dillwyn, it appeared, had latelyreturned from abroad, where Mrs. Wishart had also formerly lived forsome time; and now they went over a multitude of things and peoplefamiliar to both of them, but of which Lois did not even know thenames. She listened, however, eagerly; and gleaned, as an eagerlistener generally may, a good deal. Places, until now unheard of, tooka certain form and aspect in Lois's imagination; people were discerned, also in imagination, as being of different types and wonderfullydifferent habits and manners of life from any Lois knew at home, or hadeven seen in New York. She heard pictures talked of, and wondered whatsort of a world that art world might be, in which Mr. Dillwyn was somuch at home. Lois had never seen any pictures in her life which weremuch to her. And the talk about countries sounded strange. She knewwhere Germany was on the map, and could give its boundaries no doubtaccurately; but all this gossip about the Rhineland and its vineyardsand the vintages there and in France, sounded fascinatingly novel. Andshe knew where Italy was on the map; but Italy's skies, and soft air, and mementos of past times of history and art, were unknown; and shelistened with ever-quickening attention. The result of the whole atlast was a mortifying sense that she knew nothing. These people, herfriend and this other, lived in a world of mental impressions andmentally stored-up knowledge, which seemed to make their lifeunendingly broader and richer than her own. Especially the gentleman.Lois observed that it was constantly he who had something new to tellMrs. Wishart, and that in all the ground they went over, he was more athome than she. Indeed, Lois got the impression that Mr. Dillwyn knewthe world and everything in it better than anybody she had ever seen.Mr. Caruthers was extremely au fait in many things; Lois had thethought, not the word; but Mr. Dillwyn was an older man and had seenmuch more. He was terrifically wise in it all, she thought; and bydegrees she got a kind of awe of him. A little of Mrs. Wishart too. Howmuch her friend knew, how at home she was in this big world! what aplain little piece of ignorance was she herself beside her. Well, thought Lois – every one to his place! My place is Shampuashuh. Isuppose I am fitted for that.

"Miss Lothrop," said their entertainer here, "will you allow me to giveyou some grapes?"

"Grapes in March!" said Lois, smiling, as a beautiful white bunch waslaid before her. "People who live in New York can have everything, itseems, that they want."

"Provided they can pay for it," Mrs. Wishart put in.

"How is it in your part of the world?" said Mr. Dillwyn. "You cannothave what you want?"

"Depends upon what order you keep your wishes in," said Lois. "You canhave strawberries in June – and grapes in September."

"What order do you keep your wishes in?" was the next question.

"I think it best to have as few as possible."

"But that would reduce life to a mere framework of life, – if one had nowishes!"

"One can find something else to fill it up," said Lois.

"Pray what would you substitute? For with wishes I connect theaccomplishment of wishes."

"Are they always connected?"

"Not always; but generally, the one are the means to the other."

"I believe I do not find it so."

"Then, pardon me, what would you substitute, Miss Lothrop, to fill upyour life, and not have it a bare existence?"

"There is always work – " said Lois shyly; "and there are the pleasuresthat come without being wished for. I mean, without being particularlysought and expected."

"Does much come that way?" asked their entertainer, with an increduloussmile of mockery.

"O, a great deal!" cried Lois; and then she checked herself.

"This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. Wishart," said thegentleman. "Do you think I may presume upon Miss Lothrop's good nature, and carry it further?"

"Miss Lothrop's good nature is a commodity I never knew yet to fail."