Denis Malster and Guy Tyrrell were shrewd enough to see that Lord Henry knew his subject, and had at least endeavoured to understand what poets should aspire to; Denis, however, felt that at all costs he must enter the lists against the young nobleman. He knew the women would be quick to account for his silence in a manner not too complimentary either to his courage or his ability, and he felt that his very prestige demanded at least a demonstration of some kind on his part. Leonetta, too, was beginning to look at him with a suggestion of enquiry in her eyes, and then ultimately Agatha made it impossible for him to desist any longer. "Come on now," she said, "you two champions of Victorian verse,--aren't you going to defend it?" "Lord Henry has admitted all we claim," he observed lamely. "No one would dream of saying that all Wordsworth or all Tennyson or all Browning was worth reading." "Yes, but I claim that fully three quarters of it was not worth printing," said Lord Henry. "I think that's a gross exaggeration," Miss Mallowcoid averred. "Still at it?" enquired Mrs. Tribe, who accompanied by her husband now joined the party. "I agree with Lord Henry whatever he has said." "Ah, you know a thing or two!" cried Vanessa. At a signal from Sir Joseph, Lord Henry now rose, and the two strolled off together in the direction of the house. "Have you seen Cleopatra?" the baronet asked as soon as they were out of earshot. Lord Henry told him briefly what had happened. "How strange!" Sir Joseph exclaimed. "It is all the result of our detestable English system of leaving it to our daughters to dress their own shop window, so to speak," Lord Henry remarked, "so that at a given moment they each enter business on their own account, make the best possible show, and of course become the most bitter rivals. It is as cruel as it is stupid. It is the old Manchester School, the commercial idea of unrestricted competition, invading even the family." Sir Joseph who imagined that the young nobleman was trying to be humorous, laughed at this. "Ye-es, yes, I see!" he exclaimed chuckling. Lord Henry groaned. "But it is a most impossible situation," he said sternly. "Don't you understand? In the case of women of deep passions, like these beautiful Delarayne girls, it is a harrowing drama." Sir Joseph looked up. Lord Henry's words had sobered him. "You don't say so!" he muttered. "I do, most emphatically," the young man continued "All our plan of life in England, you see, is founded on the assumption that only people of mediocre and diluted passion will hold the stage. We allow our girls to go about freely with young men, for instance. Why?" "Because we can trust the young men," suggested Sir Joseph. "Not a bit of it!--because both men and girls are usually so very much below par temperamentally that they can exercise what is called 'self-control,'--that is to say their passions are relied upon always to be weaker than their 'self-control'."