“Then you are lost--irretrievably lost!” said the Professor. “In England, at any rate. In England, if you are a true lover of literature, you must sneer at Byron because it’s academic to do so--Oxford and Cambridge have taken to decrying genius and worshipping mediocrity. Byron is the only English poet known and honoured in other countries than England--your modern verse writers are not understood in France, Italy or Russia. Half a dozen of Byron’s stanzas would set up all the British latter-day rhymers with ideas,--only, of course, they would never admit it. I’m glad I’ve met an Englishwoman who has sense enough to appreciate Byron.” “Thank you!” said Diana in a small, meek voice. “You are most kind!” Here Farnese rushed in again upon his argument. “That glass dome----” Diana smothered a tiny yawn. “Oh, that’s an astronomical place!” she said, indifferently. “You know the kind of thing! Telescopes, globes, mathematical instruments--all those sort of objects.” The Marchese looked surprised,--then incredulous. “An astronomical place?” he repeated. “Are you sure? Have you seen it?” “Why, yes, of course!” and she laughed. “Haven’t you?” “Never! He allows no visitors inside it.” “Ah, I expect you’re too inquisitive!” and she looked at him with a bland and compassionate tolerance. “You see, being a woman, I don’t care about difficult studies, such as astronomy. Women are not supposed to understand the sciences,--they never _can_ grasp anything in the way of mathematics, can they?” Farnese hesitated. Chauvet interposed quickly. “They can,--but to my mind they cease to be women when they do. They become indifferent to the softer emotions----” “What emotions?” queried Diana, unfurling a little fan and waving it slowly to and fro. “The emotions of love,--of tenderness,--of passion----” “Ah, yes! You mean the emotions of love, of tenderness, of passion--for what? For man? Well, of course!--the most surface knowledge of mathematics would soon put an end to that sort of thing!” “Dear English madame, you are pleased to be severe!” said Chauvet. “Yet the soft emotions are surely ‘woman’s distinguishing charm’?” She laughed. “Men like to say so,” she replied. “Because it flatters their vanity to rouse these ‘soft emotions’ and translate them into love for themselves. But have you had any experience, Professor? If any woman had displayed ‘soft emotions’ towards you, would you not have been disposed to nip them in the bud?” “Most likely! I am not an object for sentimental consideration,--I never was. I should have greatly regretted it if one of your charming sex had wasted her time or herself on me.” Just then Madame Dimitrius spoke. “Dear Miss May, will you play us something?”