ed Mrs. Jennings, not deigning the artist so much as a
glance, 'skimming the earth of its surface riches, and rendering every
place the poorer for his being there.'

There was an awesome silence, which no one seemed courageous enough to
break.

'Yes,' said H. Stackton Dunckley finally, 'and in addition England is
decadent.'

'But, Mr. Selwyn'--again the American heard the voice of Elise Durwent,
that quick intensity of speech that always left a moment of startled
silence in its wake--'you have discovered something admirable about
England. Won't you tell us what it is?'

'Well,' he said, smiling, 'for one thing, no one can deny the beauty of
your women.'

'All decadent nations,' said H. Stackton Dunckley, 'produce beautiful
women--it is one of the surest signs that they are going to pieces.
The Romans did at the last, and Rome and England are parallel cases.
As Mrs. Le Roy Jennings says, they are parasitic nations. What did the
Romans add to Greek art? The Greeks had this'--he made an elliptical
movement of his hands--'the Romans did that to it'--he described a
circle, then shrugged his shoulders, convinced that he had said
something crushing.

'So you think English women beautiful, Mr. Selwyn?' said Lady Durwent,
trying to retrieve the conversation from the slough of her inamorato's
ponderosity.

'Undoubtedly,' answered the American warmly. 'It is no doubt the
out-of-door life they lead, and I suppose the moist climate has
something to do with their wonderful complexions, but they are womanly
as well, and their voices are lovely.'

'I smell a rat,' said Smyth, who had in his mouth an unlit cigarette,
which had fastened itself to his lip and bobbed up and down with his
speech, like a miniature baton. 'When a man says a woman's voice is
sweet, it means that she has bored him; that what she has to say
interests him so little that he turns to contemplation of her voice.
This American is a devilish cute fellow.'

A babble of voices took up the charge and demanded immediate
explanation.

'To a certain extent,' said Selwyn stoutly, 'there is much in what Mr.
Smyth says.'

'List to the pigmy praising the oracle,' chanted the artist.

'I do not think,' went on the American, 'that the English girls I have
met are as bright or as clever as the cultured young women of the
continent of America. In other words, with all her natural charm, the
English girl does not edit herself well.'

'In that,' said H. Stack