Miriam plunged into the story of her visit to Dr. Densley, compressing it to a few phrases, and throwing up her hands with the despairing gesture of the correct hostess off duty, told how he had invited himself to her party as an awkward fifth. “But he gave you good news, or you would not look so bonny and happy.” “Said Densleyish things. A number of old saws. Overwork, late hours, heading for a crash. Said that for a New Woman I am disquietingly sane, and that my criminal carelessness about things that most women are in a reasonable hurry over, may possibly mean that I’m in for a long life.” “A most ingenious theory!” “I don’t know. He’s been reading Shaw. Can’t believe that women really think about anything but capturing a man; for life. He wound up by imploring me not to miss marriage and what of all things do you think is his idea, or at least the idea that most appeals to him in marriage? The famous ‘conflict for supremacy!’” “Indeed an unfortunate definition of matrimony.” “Yes, but wait. That’s not all. Talk about women getting hypnotised by ideas! His mind, his so scientific mind—is putty. With immense solemnity he informed me, ‘_No_ woman, dear girl, is truly happy until she is the loser in that supreme conflict.’” “Dear, dear! An essentially pagan view.” “It’s the view of a man who knows he would lose.” “I trust you did not tell the poor thing that!” “Oh, but I did. I know it’s begging the question. But I say things like that on principle. Anything to break up addlepated masculine complacency. Not that it matters a toss to women, but because it’s all over everything in the world like a fungus, hiding the revelations waiting on every bush.” “What was his response?” “He looked very sick for a moment, and then laughed his laugh and began repeating himself. Went back to his saws about wasting youth.” “Indeed, indeed, many are doomed to that. There at least he is right. Though most certainly not in regard to yourself. A propos, I am dining here, with the Wheelers. The child is in great trouble. The Polish ’cellist, it seems, is not after all to be in London this season. She is in despair. “Of course, after coming across the world to see him.” “In despair. They must now, if they can raise sufficient funds, go to Poland. It seems that there is a lady, high up in the social scale and a patroness of musicians in general, who might be willing to help, provided that the ’cellist is willing to see the child and to make an exception to his rule of not taking pupils. It is therefore imperative to communicate with him by _letter_. I have been wondering whether your Russian friend ...” “Michael. Of course. I’ll ask him to-night. What is he to say?” Miss Holland was flurried, transfigured; but still polite. Managing to phrase her decorous thanks before she hurried, almost running, away down the room. She returned in an instant, radiant. “The Wheelers are _delighted_.”