"It was a mistake from the outset."
"Granted. That is what makes it so probable that Helen did it. Grant
isn't the man to make a fool of himself without outside pressure, and
in the end a sacrifice to principle is always some ridiculous
tomfoolery that can't be come at in any other way. However, we shall
see what we shall see. What time are you going to Mrs. Frostwinch's?"
"I am going to the Browning Club at Mrs. Gore's first. Will you come?"
"Thank you, no. I have too much respect for Browning to assist at his
dismemberment. I'll meet you at Mrs. Frostwinch's about ten."
III
IN WAY OF TASTE.
Troilus and Cressida; iii.--3.
One of the most curious of modern whims in Boston has been the study of
the poems of Robert Browning. All at once there sprang up on every hand
strange societies called Browning Clubs, and the libraries were
ransacked for Browning's works, and for the books of whoever has had
the conceit or the hardihood to write about the great poet. Lovely
girls at afternoon receptions propounded to each other abstruse
conundrums concerning what they were pleased to regard as obscure
passages, while little coteries gathered, with airs of supernatural
gravity, to read and discuss whatever bore his signature.
A genuine, serious Boston Browning Club is as deliciously droll as any
form of entertainment ever devised, provided one's sense of the
ludicrous be strong enough to overcome the natural indignation aroused
by seeing genuine poetry, the high gift of the gods, thus abused.
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