They were discussing it, praising their own purchases, and decrying the value of everybody else's when Adelaide came in.
"Oh, Adelaide," said her hostess, "we were just wondering what you paid originally for your tapestry." "The one in the hall ?" "No, the one with the Turk in it." "I haven't an idea,--" Adelaide was distinctly languid,--"I got it from my grandfather." "Wouldn't you know she'd say that ?" exclaimed one of the women.

"Not that I deny it's true; only, you know, Adelaide, whenever you do want to throw a veil over one of your pieces, you always call on the prestige of your ancestors." Adelaide raised her eyebrows.
"Really," she answered, "there isn't anything so very conspicuous about having had a grandfather." "No," her hostess echoed, "even I, so well and favorably known for my vulgarity--even _I_ had a grandfather." "But he wasn't a connoisseur in tapestries, Minnie darling." "No, but he was in pigs, the dear vulgarian." "True vulgarity," said one of the men, "vulgarity in the best sense, I mean, should betray no consciousness of its own existence.

Only thus can it be really great." "Oh, Minnie's vulgarity is just artificial, assumed because she found it worked so well." "Surely you accord her some natural talent along those lines." "I suspect her secret mind is refined." "Oh, that's not fair.

Vulgar is as vulgar does." Adelaide stood up, pushing back her chair.

She found them utterly intolerable.