“Where has your sense of humour gone to, my poor fellow? But, never mind, forgive my importunate questions; you don’t know how ghastly dull life has become. Everything is so uniform, the days so long, the amusements so scarce; and what dreadful plays your new stage Society is producing! Oh! my dear boy, it is too awful. Still, one must go to them, or else we should all be left out in the cold, and Society would crumble away.” “And you really believe that Society does exist?” sententiously questioned Danford, as he entered the room and bowed to the hostess. “There is nothing so pernicious as delusions, Lady Carey; Society is a huge spectrum reflecting all sorts of coloured shapes, which appear to each one perfect in _contour_. No one ever thinks of striking the lens, because they each of them have seen their own likeness reflected in it, and believe in its reality. But the reality is only the semblance of reality; strike the lens, and the likeness will suddenly appear out of proportion; and when broken to atoms, the whole phantasmagoria will vanish, leaving the real substance untouched. You have lived under the delusion that the social phantom was substantial; you must admit now that it was a deity created by man.” “It would not exist any longer were we to give up playing our part in the tournament; but there is still life in the old British lion, Mr Danford. Do take a cup of tea.” “A Society in which members do not know each other, even by sight, has not many chances of leading the game.” “Don’t you find, Mr Danford, that we are making progress in what you call the science of observation?” inquired Lady Carey. “It is difficult to tell, Lady Carey. I do not find that we always deal with conscientious pupils. Observation can be developed in time; but it is the lack of memory that is so disastrous. Mrs Webster, for instance, cannot remember more than half-a-dozen faces.” “Dear me, my dear guide, I do not wish to remember more than that number at present.” “Ah! but Mrs Webster is not exclusive, and she had to give up having a reception the other day, because her guide had sprained his ankle. Mind you, Mrs Webster is sincere, she wishes to improve in the art; but other pupils are more puzzling, as, for instance, the vain people, who make hopeless blunders, and insist on telling you they know quite well who’s who, but they are having you on; this makes our work most trying.” No sooner had Danford spoken these words, than the door was thrown open, and Montagu Vane and Sinclair entered. Lady Carey smiled on them and offered her right hand to be kissed. “How delightful it is to know that there are a few—alas! a very few—_salons_ where one can go and have a chat.” The little Apollo tripped across the room to greet Gwen and Lionel. “My dear Mr Vane, I am afraid I am the only one here who can sympathise with you.”