o undeceive him, but he might have
imagined I was accentuating my points. We talked of all sorts of
things--neutral things. I believe we should have liked each other had I
been some nice young married woman with a red star for 'Sold' dabbed on
my frame. We always admire pictures that are so ticketed, don't
we?--from sheer perversity, I suppose.

"I ate a huge tea. Byron hated women with healthy appetites; I daresay
Mr Lorraine does the same. He watched the muffins and the cakes
disappear with an almost zoological interest. I was on the verge of
inquiring if he ever visited the lions at feeding time--but a song
interposed.

"During this I intuitively felt his eye exploring, 'totting me up,' so
to speak.

"Vaudin, the tenor, was singing exquisitely. The words were from Mr
Lorraine's last book--they were beautiful, and I knew every line, but
affected ignorance.

"'What is that tune?' I questioned with vulgar simplicity.

"'The one the old cow died of,' he answered.

"'But the words aren't bad?'

"'Think so?' he drawled, putting up his eyeglass and surveying the
singer, as though the voice came from a marionette.

"I proceeded with some chocolate cakes, too nervous for the moment to
meet his eye. He did not observe it, however, but resumed his interest
in the departure of the edibles. It seemed absorbing! I wonder if he
will write a poem on _gourmandes!_ What fun to illustrate it and
surprise him! He does not know that I illustrate--what a horrible
discovery! To find in this piece of plastic putty a nineteenth century
working woman!

"If he had not been a poet and a _parti_ he might have been very
charming! As Lady Sargent's dear friend, of course he shares her
opinions about the shelves, and my mind was bent on dispelling that
old-worldism, on stamping, 'Not for sale' into my speech somehow. But
there was little opportunity, I saw he had mentally pronounced me such a
silly little girl.

"'Did I play tennis?'--'Loved it.'

(Truthfully, it has no attractions for me. It was a recreation once, now
it is a profession, and one cannot adopt two professions, but I didn't
tell him that.)

"'Did I dance?'--'No.'

(I was forced into this admission. Balls I forswear--the shelf is bad
enough, but to literally earn a husband by the "sweat of one's face" is
humiliating.)

"'No, I never danced,' was my answer. 'I had no superfluous energy to
work off.'

"Then we skimmed more trivialities.

"'Had he seen the new rol