"Often. I had the honour of making my bow to her last April. She is one of the dearest women I know, and she was good enough to feel interested in my somewhat romantic career." "How nice! But I mean the _Queen_ newspaper. I am dying to know if it really _is_ coming in. Now it has been seen in Paris, I'm afraid it's inevitable." "May I ask what _it_ is?" "Perhaps I oughtn't to mention it--crinoline. There is a talk about something called a crinolette." "And Crinolette, I suppose, is own sister to Crinoline?" "I'm afraid so--don't you hate them? I do; I love the early Italian style--clinging cashmeres, soft flowing draperies." "And accentuated angles--well, yes. If one has to ride in a hansom or a single brougham with a woman the hoop and powder style is rather a burthen. But women are such lovely beings--they are adorable in any costume. Madame Tallien with bare feet, and no petticoats to speak of--Pompadour in patches and wide-spreading brocade--Margaret of Orleans in a peaked head dress and puffed sleeves--Mary Stuart in a black velvet coif, and a ruff--each and all adorable--on a pretty woman." "On a pretty woman--yes. The pretty women set the fashions and the ugly women have to wear them--that's the difficulty." "Ah, me," sighed the Baron, "did any one ever see an ugly woman? There are so many degrees of beauty that it takes a long time to get from Venus to her opposite. A smile--a sparkle--a kindly look--a fresh complexion--a neat bonnet--vivacious conversation--such trifles will pass for beauty with a man who worships the sex. For him every flower in the garden of womanhood, from the imperial rose to the lowly buttercup, has its own peculiar charm." "And yet I should have thought you were awfully fastidious," said Mopsy, trifling with the newspapers, "and that nothing short of absolute perfection would please you." "Absolute perfection is generally a bore. I have met famous beauties who had no more attraction than if they had been famous statues." "Yes; I know there is a cold kind of beauty--but there are women who are as fascinating as they are lovely. Our hostess, for instance--don't you think her utterly sweet?" "She is very lovely. Do come and sit by the fire. It is such a creepy morning. I'll hunt for any newspapers you like presently; but in the meanwhile let us chat. I was getting horribly tired of my own thoughts when you came in." Mopsy simpered, and sat down in the easy chair opposite the Baron's. She began to think that this delightful person admired her more than she had hitherto supposed. His desire for her company looked promising. What if, after all, she, who had striven so much less eagerly than poor Dopsy strove last year, should be on the high road to a conquest. Here was the handsomest man she had ever met, a man with title and money, courting her society in a house full of people.