“They are scarcely better,” retorted Caliphronas promptly; “they sit half the night in theatres breathing hot air, they go to balls where there is such a crowd of people that no one can dance, they walk for an hour in the Park and call it exercise, they poison themselves at the clubs with cigarettes, and in the boudoirs with tea—and all this feverish, unreal life is called ‘the season.’ When they go abroad it is to Monte Carlo and those sorts of places, where they lead the same life on a smaller scale. No, the West End is no better than the East End!” “But you forget,” said Crispin, more from a desire to contradict the Count than because he disagreed with him, “plenty of people go mountaineering, game-shooting, yachting, exploring.” “I know all that, my dear friend, but the number of people who do those things is very small. I am talking of the great mass of the English people, and as far as I can see, whether they are rich or poor, the life they lead is in both cases equally opposed to health and enjoyment.” “Here endeth the first reading,” said Maurice, rising from the table, his example being followed by all his guests. “Caliphronas, you are quite eloquent on the subject.” “Yes! I am not usually so eloquent,” replied the Count, going out on to the terrace, “but on all sides I hear from your people complaints of being ill. Well, the remedy is in their own hands. Why don’t they use it?” “My good sir,” remarked Crispin, who had lighted a cigarette, “you cannot overturn the whole complex civilization of the West in that manner. Man can no more go back to the simplicity of the existence you eulogize, than you could settle down to a fashionable life in London and enjoy it.” “Well, you at least can be cured easily,” said the Count, with emphasis, for, as they were now beyond earshot of the rest of the party, he could talk freely; “you all your life have lived the life of a natural man, but now you smoke that horrible tobacco, drink all kinds of wines, eat all kinds of dishes, and will soon become as artificial as those people around you.” “Perhaps I will come back to the primeval existence you praise.” “With that young lady, I suppose?” “Perhaps.” “Ah, she is very charming! She is”— “Thank you, I don’t want to hear your opinion of Miss Dengelton,” said Crispin haughtily; “your primeval simplicity at times verges on rudeness. How long are you going to stay here?” “I can’t tell you that; but I am going to take my first step to-day.” “In order to get Roylands to Melnos?” “Yes. Oh, I have a lure, my friend. Yes; I have described the fairyland of the islands, and that it is fairyland you must admit. He is even now seized with a desire of going there, so to-day I will get him to make up his mind to go to the Levant with me.” “How?” “I will show him this.” Crispin looked at the portrait the Count held out, which was that of a marvellously beautiful woman in a Greek dress.