ave shake of the head.

"Quite so," answered the young lord. "It is the problem of slavery, and
we try to solve it by amusing the slaves."

The politician looked at him keenly. "What change do you propose, then?"
he asked.

Lord Henry laughed. "I don't desire to change anything in England except
the weather," he answered. "I am quite content with philosophic
contemplation. But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt through
an over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should appeal
to Science to put us straight. The advantage of the emotions is that
they lead us astray, and the advantage of Science is that it is not
emotional."

"But we have such grave responsibilities," ventured Mrs. Vandeleur,
timidly.

"Terribly grave," echoed Lady Agatha.

Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine. "Humanity takes itself too
seriously. It is the world's original sin. If the caveman had known how
to laugh, History would have been different."

"You are really very comforting," warbled the Duchess. "I have always
felt rather guilty when I came to see your dear aunt, for I take no
interest at all in the East End. For the future I shall be able to look
her in the face without a blush."

"A blush is very becoming, Duchess," remarked Lord Henry.

"Only when one is young," she answered. "When an old woman like myself
blushes, it is a very bad sign. Ah! Lord Henry, I wish you would tell me
how to become young again."

He thought for a moment. "Can you remember any great error that you
committed in your early days, Duchess?" he asked, looking at her across
the table.

"A great many, I fear," she cried.

"Then commit them over again," he said, gravely. "To get back one's
youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies."

"A delightful theory!" she exclaimed. "I must put it into practice."

"A dangerous theory!" came from Sir Thomas's tight lips. Lady Agatha
shook her head, but could not help being amused. Mr. Erskine listened.

"Yes," he continued, "that is one of the great secrets of life. Nowadays
most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it
is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes."

A laugh ran round the table.

He played with the idea, and grew wilful; tossed it into the air and
transformed it; let it escape and recaptured it; made it iridescent with
fancy, and winged it with paradox. The praise of folly, as he went on,
soared into a philosophy, and