“It seemed to me somewhat unusual,” Corney replied; “but it has always been my privilege to dine with the company I am asked to entertain. I took it you had arranged a little treat for the servants.” And Corney left to catch his train. Another entertainer told me the following story, although a joke against himself. He and Corney Grain were sharing a cottage on the river. A man called early one morning to discuss affairs, and was talking to Corney in the parlour, which was on the ground floor. The window was open. The other entertainer—the man who told me the story—was dressing in the room above. Thinking he recognised the voice of the visitor below, he leant out of his bedroom window to hear better. He leant too far, and dived head foremost into a bed of flowers, his bare legs—and only his bare legs—showing through the open window of the parlour. “Good gracious!” exclaimed the visitor, turning at the moment and seeing a pair of wriggling legs above the window sill; “who’s that?” Corney fixed his eyeglass and strolled to the window. “Oh, it’s only What’s-his-name,” he explained. “Wonderful spirits. Can be funny in the morning.” SHOULD WOMEN BE BEAUTIFUL? PRETTY women are going to have a hard time of it later on. Hitherto, they have had things far too much their own way. In the future there are going to be no pretty girls, for the simple reason there will be no plain girls against which to contrast them. Of late I have done some systematic reading of ladies’ papers. The plain girl submits to a course of “treatment.” In eighteen months she bursts upon Society an acknowledged beauty. And it is all done by kindness. One girl writes: “Only a little while ago I used to look at myself in the glass and cry. Now I look at myself and laugh.” The letter is accompanied by two photographs of the young lady. I should have cried myself had I seen her as she was at first. She was a stumpy, flat-headed, squat-nosed, cross-eyed thing. She did not even look good. One virtue she appears to have had, however. It was faith. She believed what the label said, she did what the label told her. She is now a tall, ravishing young person, her only trouble being, I should say, to know what to do with her hair—it reaches to her knees and must be a nuisance to her. She would do better to give some of it away. Taking this young lady as a text, it means that the girl who declines to be a dream of loveliness does so out of obstinacy. What the raw material may be does not appear to matter. Provided no feature is absolutely missing, the result is one and the same.