new that Mr. Amarinth would prove a magnet. Let me
introduce you to my cousin, Lady Locke--Lord Reginald Hastings."

Reggie bowed to a lady dressed in black, and shook hands affectionately
with the big man, whom he addressed as Esme. Five minutes later dinner
was announced, and they sat down at a small oval table covered with pale
pink roses.

"The opera to-night is 'Faust,'" said Mrs. Windsor. "Ancona is
Valentine, and Melba is Marguerite. I forget who else is singing, but it
is one of Harris' combination casts, a constellation of stars."

"The evening stars sang together!" said Mr. Amarinth, in a gently
elaborate voice, and with a sweet smile. "I wonder Harris does not
start morning opera; from twelve till three for instance. One could drop
in after breakfast at eleven, and one might arrange to have luncheon
parties between the acts."

"But surely it would spoil one for the rest of the day," said Lady
Locke, a fresh-looking woman of about twenty-eight, with the sort of
face that is generally called sensible, calm observant eyes, and a
steady and simple manner. "One would be fit for nothing afterwards."

"Quite so," said Mr. Amarinth, with extreme gentleness. "That would be
the object of the performance, to unfit one for the duties of the day.
How beautiful! What a glorious sight it would be to see a great audience
flocking out into the orange-coloured sunshine, each unit of which was
thoroughly unfitted for any duties whatsoever. It makes me perpetually
sorrowful in London to meet with people doing their duty. I find them
everywhere. It is impossible to escape from them. A sense of duty is
like some horrible disease. It destroys the tissues of the mind, as
certain complaints destroy the tissues of the body. The catechism has a
great deal to answer for."

"Ah! now you are laughing at me," said Lady Locke calmly.

"Mr. Amarinth never laughs at any one, Emily," said Mrs. Windsor. "He
makes others laugh. I wish I could say clever things. I would rather be
able to talk in epigrams, and hear Society repeating what I said, than
be the greatest author or artist that ever lived. You are luckier than
I, Lord Reggie. I heard a _bon mot_ of yours at the Foreign Office last
night."

"Indeed. What was it?"

"Er--really I--oh! it was something about life, you know, with a sort of
general application, one of your best. It made me smile, not laugh. I
always think that is such a test of merit. We smile at wit; we laugh at
bu