"I have promised to look in at Vane's rooms," says Major Trentermain. "You'll come too, won't you? He is full of some new craze--æstheticism, he calls it. All his people have gone in for it extensively, and he seems to be bitten with the same mania. You really should see his rooms. Quite a study." "Oh, yes; I'll come," answers Carlisle indifferently. He is rarely anything else but indifferent now. Nothing rouses or interests him except, perhaps, "big game" or hard fighting. They go to the Gaiety. To Carlisle the performance seems idiotic in the extreme. "Do come away. I can't stand this trash," he mutters impatiently. "But that's Belle Burton singing," remonstrates Trentermain, who is more "up" to the goings on of London as it is, than his friend. "What of that?" demands Carlisle. "Every one's talking of her. She's----" (Then comes a mysterious whisper.) Colonel Carlisle frowns and tugs his heavy moustache. "Vice idealized as 'celebrity.' Umph! That's a modern definition? Suppose I'm old-fashioned enough to look upon it as it is. Come, you can't really care for such rubbish, Trent. It's an insult to common sense, I think. And look at that row of vapid idiots grinning from ear to ear--boys with the _blasé_ faces of men, and limbs like thread-paper. Fine stuff for soldiers there!" "That's a detachment of the Crutch and Toothpick Brigade," laughs Trentermain; "also a new importation of society since we bade farewell to Albion's shores. British youth don't seem to have much backbone, eh?" They laugh and rise and go out, to the intense disgust of a bevy of fair ones who have been directing Parthian glances at the two magnificent-looking men in the stalls, and drawing comparisons between them and the "Brigade" in no way complimentary to the latter. Once free of the theatre, they hail a hansom and are driven to the rooms of Valentine Vane, an old comrade of their own who has retired from the service, and is cultivating artistic tastes with praiseworthy assiduity. But Valentine Vane, or V.V., as his friends call him, is in a state of pleasant excitement. He has been invited to a reception at the house of one of the most famous leaders of the new school, and he insists upon carrying the two officers off with him despite their remonstrances. "She bade me bring any friend I pleased," he says enthusiastically. "Ah, when you see her! Such grace, such languor, such divine indolence! Every attitude a poem; every look a revelation of subtle meaning! Ah!" "Sounds serpentine, I think," says Carlisle, _sotto voce_. "Gives you the impression of a snake gliding about. Can't say I appreciate the prospect." "Of course you are as yet Philistines," continues V.V., pouring some scent over his handkerchief as he speaks, and gently waving the delicate cambric to disperse the fragrance. "Ah, you have much to learn!" "My dear fellow," says Carlisle good-humouredly, "do shut up that nonsense, and talk rationally."