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Sir Michael Cunningham, her hero of heroes. But even the violent
opposition seemed preferable to the want of interest shown by the
others. Mrs. FaneSmith had time to fritter away at least half an
hour after breakfast in the most desultory conversation, the most
fruitless discussions with Rose as to some detail of dress; but she
always made the excuse that she had no time to read the papers,
and amused Erica not a little by asking her husband if anything
particular had been happening lately, when they were just starting
for a dinner party. Out of his little rechauffe of the week's news
she probably extracted enough information to enable her to display
that wellbred interest, that vague and superficial acquaintance
with the subject which will pass muster in society, and which
probably explains alike the very vapid talk and the wildly false
accusations which form the staple of ordinary conversation.
Rose was even more perplexing. She was not only ignorant, but she
boasted of her ignorance. Again and again Erica heard her
deprecate the introduction of any public question.
Oh, don't begin to talk of that! she would exclaim. I know
nothing about it, and never mean to know anything.
Or there would be an imploring appeal.
Why do you waste your time in talking politics when you have never
told me a word about soandso's wedding?
She occasionally read the Court Circular, and was rather fond of
one or two of the society papers from which she used to glean
choice little paragraphs of personal gossip.
Once one of these papers gave Erica an uncomfortable experience.
The elders of the party being out for the evening, Rose and Erica
had the drawing room to themselves, and Erica was really enjoying
the rare novelty of talking with a girl of her own age. Rose,
although the most arrant little flirt, was fond, too, of her girl
friends, and she really liked Erica, and enjoyed the fun of
initiating her into all the mysteries and delights of society.
How did you get your name? she asked, suddenly. It is so pretty
and so uncommon.
Oh, said Erica, without thinking, I was called after my father's
friend, Eric Haeberlein.
Eric Haeberlein? exclaimed Rose. Why, I was reading something
about him this afternoon. Here it is look! And after searching
the columns of her favorite society paper, she pointed to the
following paragraph:
It is now known as a positive fact that the notorious Eric
Haeberlein was actually in London last week in connection with the
disgraceful Kellner business. ON DIT that he escaped detection
through the instrumentality of one of the fair sex, whose audacity
outweighed her modesty.
Erica could hardly have restrained her indignation had not two real
dangers drawn off her attention from her own wounded feelings. Her

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