"And as a woman--however hard she strives to cultivate her mental power--must also have some outlet for the weaker and more sentimental portion of her nature, I take refuge in writing poetry. It is very safe, and does no one either good or harm, which is more than we can say of some of our modern poets. I have never shaped my actions by what people think or believe, and I am not going to begin now. I am called eccentric, but I would rather be that than commonplace. You, now, are very different. You are full to the brim with romance, and you still believe in 'moonlight and kisses.' Unfortunately, I can't preach a mission to you, for you are married; and as for art and culture, well, your position demands incessant sacrifices, and the higher good must suffer. Perhaps, after all, it is best to live for the life about one, not some abstract thing that only has interest for a few. The one owns a wider range of sympathy, and has at least the advantage of being understood." "I think no amount of learning or mental culture--to use your favourite expression--should destroy one's sympathy with the common joys, and needs, and sorrows around us," says Lauraine thoughtfully. "Life has to be lived; we can't get over that fact, and to shut ourselves apart in the selfish absorption of one special idea, and sneer at all who cannot understand or cannot pause to investigate it, is really a sort of sin against ourselves and our fellow-beings." "Do you mean that I do that?" asks Lady Etwynde. "Oh, no; you have plenty of sympathy even for those outside the pale of 'culture.' But a great many of those who surround and flatter you at your æsthetic court are the most prejudiced and narrow-minded individuals it has ever been my lot to meet." "Ah," sighs Lady Etwynde. "I suppose you are right--it is a case of 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.' I often wonder whether it is best to take life very seriously, or laugh at it as a good joke." "I should think our own natures could alone make either case possible," says Lauraine. "But the greatest mistake is to put your heart into it," continues Lady Etwynde. "It is like giving a licence to your friends and enemies alike. The purely selfish people are the only class who get any real enjoyment out of life, after all." "It can scarcely be enjoyment," says Lauraine. "A life apart from love--from sympathy--from the interests of others--can never be an entirely happy one, though it may be in a sense untroubled." "We are having a very grave conversation for a morning call," says Lady Etwynde; "and it all came about the flowers. Was that your own idea, my love?" "No--Keith--Mr. Athelstone suggested it," Lauraine answers, with again that burning blush on her delicate cheek.