Her reflections are cut short here--a robe of amber silk seems to float past like a pale gold cloud, and disperse itself over the low chair and Ambusson carpet by her side. Emerging pale and languid from amidst the cloudy draperies is the face of the Lady Etwynde. Mrs. Douglas greets her eagerly. It is rarely indeed that conventional gatherings like the present are graced by the presence of the lovely æsthete. "Yes; I make an exception in favour of Lady Vavasour," she says, in her soft, plaintive voice, that seems to rebel against the very burden of speech. "But Society is not congenial to me. My tastes and inclinations move in a very different groove. Why _will_ people be frivolous? Life is not meant for eating and drinking and scandalmongering. What can it really matter who is dressed by Worth, or Pingat, or Elise; or whose husband ran off with an actress, or whose wife got talked about at Hurlingham, or anything else of the same sort? Yet this is all one hears discussed in Society. Ah, when a perfect culture has given us a perfect understanding of the beautiful, we shall also have a truer morality. The soul will soar far above the senses, and we shall look back in wonder at the ignorance we once enjoyed." "No doubt," murmurs Mrs. Douglas, vaguely. She is quite unable to comprehend what Lady Etwynde means, but it would never do to let her perceive it. "We shall be translated--advanced, as it were," continues Lady Etwynde, dreamily. "We shan't tie back our gowns, and impede the action of our limbs. We shan't cramp our bodies into the machinery of bones and wires, that gives us that most odious of modern inventions--a 'waist.' We shall languish no longer for happiness and occupation. Our minds will soar into purer ether. Ah! happy days that I see in the dim future, and yearn for in the mists of present darkness." "Exactly," again asserts Mrs. Douglas, in increasing bewilderment. "But don't you think 'waists' are very much admired?" She possesses a very elegant figure of her own, and has her corsets made by a special French artist. It therefore brings no thrill of blissful expectation to her that advanced civilization preludes such an abolition as "stays." "Admired!" murmurs the Lady Etwynde, dreamily. "By the Philistines--yes; by the thoughtful--the advanced--the intense--oh, no!" "The Philistines!" says Mrs. Douglas, in growing bewilderment. "I--I thought corsets were not introduced till the time of Queen Elizabeth."