Mrs. Wolfstein and Lady Holme on the other, between
her and Mrs. Trent. Miss Schley was exactly opposite. She kept her eyes
eternally cast down like a nun at Benediction. All the quite young men
who could see her were looking at her with keen interest, and two
or three of them--probably up from Sandhurst--had already assumed
expressions calculated to alarm modesty. Others looked mournfully
fatuous, as if suddenly a prey to lasting and romantic grief. The older
men were more impartial in their observation of Mrs. Wolfstein's guests.
And all the women, without exception, fixed their eyes upon Lady Holme's
hat.

Lady Cardington, who seemed oppressed by grief, said to Mrs. Wolfstein:

"Did you see that article in the _Daily Mail_ this morning?"

"Which one?"

"On the suggestion to found a school in which the only thing to be
taught would be happiness."

"Who's going to be the teacher?"

"Some man. I forget the name."

"A man!" said Mrs. Trent, in a slow, veiled contralto voice. "Why, men
are always furious if they think we have any pleasure which they can't
deprive us of at a minute's notice. A man is the last two-legged thing
to be a happiness teacher."

"Whom would you have then?" said Lady Cardington.

"Nobody, or a child."

"Of which sex?" said Mrs. Wolfstein.

"The sex of a child," replied Mrs. Trent.

Mrs. Wolfstein laughed rather loudly.

"I think children are the most greedy, unsatisfied individuals in--" she
began.

"I was not alluding to Curzon Street children," observed Mrs. Trent,
interrupting. "When I speak in general terms of anything I always except
London."

"Why?" said Sally Perceval.

"Because it's no more natural, no more central, no more in line with the
truth of things than you are, Sally."

"But, my dear, you surely aren't a belated follower of Tolstoi!" cried
Mrs. Wolfstein. "You don't want us all to live like day labourers."

"I don't want anybody to do anything, but if happiness is to be taught
it must not be by a man or by a Londoner."

"I had no idea you had been caught by the cult of simplicity," said Mrs.
Wolfstein. "But you are so clever. You reveal your dislikes but conceal
your preferences. Most women think that if they only conceal their
dislikes they are quite perfectly subtle."

"Subtle people are delicious," said Lady Manby, putting her mouth on
one side. "They remind me of a kleptomaniac I once knew who had a little
pocket closed by a flap let into the front o