“You and I happen to have read the evidence about ‘aigrettes’ and the opinion of the House of Lords Committee that the feathers of egrets imported into Great Britain are obtained by killing the birds during the breeding season; but you don’t suppose, do you, that people whose commercial interests are bound up with the selling of ‘aigrettes’ are going to read it, or believe it if they do read it?” “That,” he answered, “is cynical, if you like. I feel sure that, in England, people do not sell suspected articles about which there has been so much talk and inquiry as there has been about ‘aigrettes’ without examining in good faith into the facts of their origin. No, believe me, none of the ‘aigrettes’ sold in England can have grown on birds.” “This is fantastic,” I said. “Why! if what you’re saying is true, then--then real ‘aigrettes’ are all artificial; but that--that would be cheating!” “Oh, no!” he said. “You see, ‘aigrettes’ are in fashion. The word ‘real’ has therefore become parliamentary. People don’t want to be cruel, but they must have ‘real’ aigrettes. So, all these ‘aigrettes’ are ‘real,’ unless the customer has a qualm, and then they are ‘real imitation aigrettes.’ We are a highly civilised people!” “That is very clever,” I said, “but how about the statistics of real egret plumes imported into this country?” He answered like a flash: “Oh, those, of course, are only brought here to be exported again at once to countries where they do not mind confessing to cruelty; yes, all exported, except--well, _those that aren’t_!” “Oh!” I said: “I see! You have been speaking ironically all this time.” “Have you grasped that?” he answered. “Capital!” After that we walked in silence. “The fact is,” I said, presently, “ordinary people, shopmen and customers alike, never bother their heads about such things at all.” “Yes,” he replied sadly, “they take the line of least resistance. It is just that which gives Fashion its chance to make such fools of them.” “You have yet to prove that it does make fools of them.” “I thought I had; but no matter. Take horses’ tails--what’s left of them--do you defend that fashion?” “Well,” I said, “I----” “Would you if you were a horse?” “If you mean that I am a donkey----?” “Oh, no! Not at all!” “It’s going too far,” I said, “to call docking cruel.” “Personally,” he answered, “I don’t think it is going too far. It’s painful in itself, and Heaven alone knows what irritation horses have to suffer from flies through being tailless. I admit that it saves a little brushing, and that some people are under the delusion that it averts carriage accidents. But put cruelty and utility aside, and look at it from the point of view of fashion. Can anybody say it doesn’t spoil a horse’s looks?” “You know perfectly well,” I said, “that many people think it smartens him up tremendously. They regard a certain kind of horse as nothing with a tail; just as some men are nothing with beards.”