But Littleton appreciated also that his wife should have the society of others beside himself.  Pauline introduced her promptly to her own small but intelligent feminine circle, and pending Pauline’s removal to a flat, the Saturday evening suppers were maintained at the old establishment.  Here Selma made the acquaintance of her husband’s and his sister’s friends, both men and women, who dropped in often after the play and without ceremony for a weekly interchange of thought and comradeship.  Selma looked forward to the first of these occasions with an eager curiosity.  She expected a renewal of the Benham Institute, only in a more impressive form, as befitted a great literary centre; that papers would be read, original compositions recited, and many interesting people of both sexes perform according to their specialties.  She confidently hoped to have the opportunity to declaim, “Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?” “Curfew must not ring to-night,” or some other of her literary pieces.

Therefore, it was almost a shock to her that the affair was so informal, and that the company seemed chiefly occupied in behaving gayly—­in making sallies at each other’s expense, which were greeted with merriment.  They seemed to her like a lot of children let loose from school.  There were no exercises, and no allusion was made to the attainments of the various guests beyond an occasional word of introduction by Pauline or Wilbur; and this word was apt to be of serio-comic import.  Selma realized that among the fifteen people present there were representatives of various interesting crafts—­writers, artists, a magazine editor, two critics of the stage, a prominent musician, and a college professor—­but none of them seemed to her to act a part or to have their accomplishments in evidence, as she would have liked.  Every one was very cordial to her, and appeared desirous to recognize her as a permanent member of their circle, but she could not help feeling disappointed at the absence of ceremony and formal events.  There was no president or secretary, and presently the party went into the dining-room and sat around a table, at either end of which Pauline and Wilbur presided over a blazer.  Interest centred on the preparation of a rabbit and creamed oysters, and pleasant badinage flew from tongue to tongue.  Selma found herself between the magazine editor and a large, powerfully built man with a broad, rotund, strong face, who was introduced to her as Dr. Page, and who was called George by every one else.  He had arrived late, just as they were going in to supper, and his appearance had been greeted with a murmur of satisfaction.  He had placed himself between Pauline and her, and he showed himself, to Selma’s thinking, one of the least dignified of the company.