e of Wales" Prayer-book.

REGINALD ON THE ACADEMY

"One goes to the Academy in self-defence," said Reginald. "It is the one
topic one has in common with the Country Cousins."

"It is almost a religious observance with them," said the Other. "A kind
of artistic Mecca, and when the good ones die they go"--

"To the Chantrey Bequest. The mystery is _what_ they find to talk about
in the country."

"There are two subjects of conversation in the country: Servants, and Can
fowls be made to pay? The first, I believe, is compulsory, the second
optional."

"As a function," resumed Reginald, "the Academy is a failure."

"You think it would be tolerable without the pictures?"

"The pictures are all right, in their way; after all, one can always
_look_ at them if one is bored with one's surroundings, or wants to avoid
an imminent acquaintance."

"Even that doesn't always save one. There is the inevitable female whom
you met once in Devonshire, or the Matoppo Hills, or somewhere, who
charges up to you with the remark that it's funny how one always meets
people one knows at the Academy. Personally, I _don't_ think it funny."

"I suffered in that way just now," said Reginald plaintively, "from a
woman whose word I had to take that she had met me last summer in
Brittany."

"I hope you were not too brutal?"

"I merely told her with engaging simplicity that the art of life was the
avoidance of the unattainable."

"Did she try and work it out on the back of her catalogue?"

"Not there and then. She murmured something about being 'so clever.'
Fancy coming to the Academy to be clever!"

"To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in the
evening."

"Which reminds me that I can't remember whether I accepted an invitation
from you to dine at Kettner's to-night."

"On the other hand, I can remember with startling distinctness not having
asked you to."

"So much certainty is unbecoming in the young; so we'll consider that
settled. What were you talking about? Oh, pictures. Personally, I
rather like them; they are so refreshingly real and probable, they take
one away from the unrealities of life."

"One likes to escape from oneself occasionally."

"That is the disadvantage of a portrait; as a rule, one's bitterest
friends can find nothing more to ask than the faithful unlikeness that
goes down to posterity as oneself. I hate posterity--it's so fond of
having the last word. Of cours