“You are a true observer, Miss Towerbridge, and a humourist which spoils nothing,” remarked Danford. Gwen blushed vividly at the little man’s praise; she was proud at having won the appreciation of such a master in psychology.
“I shall expect you all to turn away in disgust from your uncouth companions,” and Sinclair rose. “I am going to join Vane; for the present his views suit my state of mind, and we shall see who will win in the long run—you, with your rude Dame Nature; or we, with our discriminating power of æsthetics. Good-bye, poor Miss Carey”—and he bent towards her—“you are not cut out for a distributing kitchen employer; and nature is a hideous transgressor whom you ought to kick out of your doors. What will Lady Carey say to all this?” and the fastidious critic was off, followed by Murray.
The group broke up; Lionel putting his hand on Danford’s shoulder walked out of the Rotunda, leaving Gwen and Eva conversing in one part of the cool hall, while Lelia Dale and Nettie reclined in another part. Lelia Dale leaned her head on her hand. She did not know whom to serve. She had always been partial to Sinclair, whose criticisms on her talent were most flattering, and the eclecticism of Vane was an element which she appreciated highly; but, on the other hand, nature had its attractions, also Lord Somerville was a great power in the social organism, and the love of notoriety was so ingrafted in her professional soul that she was unwilling to see the rising of a Society of new stagers out of which she would be excluded. She meditated whether it would not be wise to put on one side her pride, and to beg humbly of Eleanora Duse to initiate her in the secrets of physiognomy; for, upon the whole, Lelia was artistic enough to know in her inner heart that she was deficient in facial expression, and totally ignorant of the laws of motion.
Lionel often sat in his library pondering over all kinds of abstruse questions. He did not know his old London again, and smiled at the revolution in social life. Nowadays, one house was as good as another. Mrs So-and-So’s luncheon parties, Lady X.’s dinners and bridge _réunions_ were no longer sought for, since frocks and frills had vanished and packs of cards crumbled to dust. Dancing also was impossible under the present _régime_, for the _laisser-aller_ of a ball-room seemed intolerable in the new Paradise regained. In fact, no respectable mother would consent to take her daughter to any of these brawls. Lionel recalled the first—and the last—ball of this season. It was at Lady Wimberley’s. When the ball opened, the hurry and scurry of London apes was such, that he had turned to his faithful guide and told him,—