Mrs. Flaxman sat, a mostly silent listener,
but in no wise showing weariness at the lateness of the hour, or mental
strain imposed in following such abstract lines of thought. I too
listened silently, save in reply to some direct remark, but with pained,
growing thoughts, that often left me utterly weary when the little
company dispersed. I would often stop listening and fall into vague,
hopeless speculations as to the number of centuries that must elapse
before I could overtake them. Saddest fancy of all was that my powers
might be too limited even to do this. Our daylight hours were, in great
measure, passed in making and receiving calls from Mrs. Flaxman's
friends, who seemed very quick to find out she was there, and in visiting
the huge dressmaking and dry goods establishments which she patronized. I
found it quite difficult, at times, to reconcile the fact that those we
met by day were, in the main, created in the same mental likeness as
those I listened to with such admiration in the evening. I used to close
my eyes at times and fancy the old heathen, mythology to be true, and
that the gods were actually revisiting the earth, and bringing with them
the high conceptions from Olympus, I was able more clearly than ever to
recognize how high were Mr. Winthrop's ideals, so far as this world goes,
of human excellence and, with deepest humiliation, remembered how far I
must have come short of his lowest standards. I went to Mrs. Flaxman with
this new and painful discovery, and as usual, she brought her
consolation.
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