There was no need for _me_ to maintain the conversation. Lady Muriel and Arthur were evidently on those most delightful of terms, where one has no need to check thought after thought, as it rises to the lips, with the fear ‘_this_ will not be appreciated—_this_ will give offence—_this_ will sound too serious—this will sound flippant’: like very old friends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled on. “Why shouldn’t we desert the Picnic and go in some other direction?” she suddenly suggested. “A party of four is surely self-sufficing? And as for _food_, our hamper——” “Why _shouldn’t_ we? What a genuine _lady’s_ argument!” laughed Arthur. “A lady never knows on which side the _onus probandi_—the burden of proving—lies!” “Do _men_ always know?” she asked with a pretty assumption of meek docility. “With _one_ exception—the only one I can think of—Dr. Watts, who has asked the senseless question ‘Why should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will?’ Fancy _that_ as an argument for Honesty! His position seems to be ‘I’m only honest because I see no reason to steal.’ And the _thief’s_ answer is of course complete and crushing. ‘I deprive my neighbour of his goods because I want them myself. And I do it against his will because there’s no chance of getting him to consent to it!’” “I can give you one other exception,” I said: “an argument I heard only to-day—and _not_ by a lady. ‘Why shouldn’t I walk on my own forehead?’” “What a curious subject for speculation!” said Lady Muriel, turning to me, with eyes brimming over with laughter. “May we know who propounded the question? And _did_ he walk on his own forehead?” “I ca’n’t remember _who_ it was that said it!” I faltered. “Nor _where_ I heard it!” “Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the Picnic!” said Lady Muriel. “It’s a _far_ more interesting question than ‘_Isn’t_ this a picturesque ruin?’ ‘_Aren’t_ those autumn-tints lovely?’ I shall have to answer those two questions _ten_ times, at least, this afternoon!” “That’s one of the miseries of Society!” said Arthur. “Why ca’n’t people let one enjoy the beauties of Nature without having to _say_ so every minute? Why should Life be one long Catechism?” “It’s just as bad at a picture-gallery,” the Earl remarked. “I went to the R.A. last May, with a conceited young artist: and he _did_ torment me! I wouldn’t have minded his criticizing the pictures _himself_: but _I_ had to agree with him—or else to argue the point, which would have been worse!” “It was _depreciatory_ criticism, of course?” said Arthur. “I don’t see the ‘of course’ at all.”