“Nor I, my lord,” broke in Danford, who left the door and came back towards the group. “Jack Daw—Mr Vane’s social guide—told me lately that he and his pupil did not always pull together. The Society _dilettante_ is trying to stem the great wave of reform, and, like a child, brings his small toys to impede the violence of the tide; which makes Jack laugh uncontrollably. The latter does his best to give his pupil smart hints; but Mr Vane takes them badly, and when Jack thrusts his light on the great sights of nature, the little ex-smart man puts his tiny white hands over his eyes, and sighing heavily tells him: ‘My dear Jack, you are all in the wrong. Nature has long been exploded. She lost herself for a considerable time under the trees of Paradise, then she was suddenly conquered by a greater master than herself—Art, and ever since has never lifted her head again.’ He answers—art, to every longing, to every passion; it is his panacea against all anguish, the goal to every ambition.” “By-the-bye, Dick,” interrupted Lionel, “I was at the meeting this morning with my architect.” “To be sure, the meeting of the United Drapers of London,” remarked Sinclair; “it must have been a diverting assembly! Lord Petersham telephoned to ask me if I could attend—ha! ha! ha! to see Watson and Company _en masse_ would be too much for me. One at a time of these prosperous shopkeepers—and that in the open air—is all I can stand!” “I wish that you had turned up, Ronald,” mischievously said Lionel. “You would have lost that preconceived idea of yours that a profession must imprint an indelible sign on a man’s physique—pure delusion, my good man! Well, I obtained my points with the Board of Drapers: first, I attacked Watson, who I was afraid would be recalcitrant; but I was astonished to find him most willing to carry out our scheme.” “I believe you will discover hidden treasures of philanthropy in the hearts of all those who formerly rebelled at the mere name of charity,” satirically remarked Danford. “You are always a prophet, my faithful guide; for Whiteley, Swan & Edgar, Marshall & Snelgrove—in fact, all the big shops of past elegance—are offering to open their doors in a week, and to transform their rooms into commodious dining-halls for the masses; and last, though not least of all, the Army and Navy Stores have actually condescended to turn all their devastated rooms into—_Symposia_. Yes, that is the name, for they wish to have a different appellation to other shops; of course we could not insult such a select board of shareholders by insisting on their using the same word as other tradespeople; so _Symposia_ it will be; although by any other name the food would be as delectable.” And Lionel turned to Gwen, “I look to you as a partner to help me in this enterprise.”