yours, for instance, a most
vicious place, a perfect lotus-eater's Paradise. Positively, I feel the
energy slipping out of my bones as I sit here."

"Then you shall be chained to that seat," she threatened. "You will not
be able to go to Manchester and make trouble, and my uncle will be able
to sleep at nights."

"I feel that everything in life is slipping away from me," he protested.
"I ought to be thinking over what lam going to say to your country
people, and instead of that I am wondering whether there is anything
more beautiful in the world than the blue haze over your meadows."

She laughed, and moved her parasol a little so that she could see him
better.

"You know," she said, "my uncle declares that if only you could be
taught to imbibe a little more of the real philosophy of living, you
would become quite a desirable person."

"And what is the real philosophy of living?"

"Just now, with him, it is the laissez faire, the non-interference with
the essential forces of life, especially the forces that concern other
people," she explained.

He looked at her, a little startled. What instinct, he wondered, had
led her to place her finger upon the one poison spot in his thoughts?

"I can see," he remarked, "that I have found my way into a dangerous
neighbourhood."

She changed her position a little, so as to face him. Her blue eyes
were lit with laughter, her lips mocked him. Usually reserved, she
seemed at that moment to be inspired with an instinct which was
something almost more than coquetry. She leaned a little towards him.
The aloofness of her carriage and manner had suddenly disappeared. He
was conscious of the perfection of her white muslin gown, of the shape
of her neck, the delicate lines and grace of her slim young body.

"You shall be chained here," she repeated. "My uncle has a new theory
of individualism. He thinks that if no one tried to improve anybody,
the world would be so much more livable a place. Shall we sit at his
feet?"

He shook his head.

"I am not brave," he said, "but I am at least discreet."

"Do you think that you are?" she asked him quietly. "Do you think that
you are discreet in the sense of being wise? Are you sure that you are
using your gifts for the best purpose, for yourself--and other people?"

"No one can be sure," he replied. "I only follow my star."

"Then are you sure that it is your star?"

"No one can ever mistake that," he declared. "Sometimes one may lo