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opinion that American hotels were the best in the world, and
Mrs. Touchett, fresh from a renewed struggle with them, re-
corded a conviction that they were the worst. Ralph, with
his experimental geniality, suggested, by way of healing the
breach, that the truth lay between the two extremes and
that the establishments in question ought to be described as
fair middling. This contribution to the discussion, howev-
er, Miss Stackpole rejected with scorn. Middling indeed! If
they were not the best in the world they were the worst, but
there was nothing middling about an American hotel.
‘We judge from different points of view, evidently,’ said
Mrs. Touchett. ‘I like to be treated as an individual; you like
to be treated as a ‘party.’’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Henrietta replied. ‘I like to
be treated as an American lady.’
‘Poor American ladies!’ cried Mrs. Touchett with a laugh.
‘They’re the slaves of slaves.’
‘They’re the companions of freemen,’ Henrietta retort-
ed.
‘They’re the companions of their servants—the Irish
chambermaid and the negro waiter. They share their work.’
‘Do you call the domestics in an American household
‘slaves’?’ Miss Stackpole enquired. ‘If that’s the way you de-
sire to treat them, no wonder you don’t like America.’
‘If you’ve not good servants you’re miserable,’ Mrs.
Touchett serenely said. ‘They’re very bad in America, but
I’ve five perfect ones in Florence.’
‘I don’t see what you want with five,’ Henrietta couldn’t
help observing. ‘I don’t think I should like to see five per-

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