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CHAPTER XXXIX
LUXURY

So they were all scattered. But the moving and communicating wires ofhuman society seem as often as any way to run underground; quite out ofsight, at least; then specially strong, when to an outsider they appearto be broken and parted for ever.

Into the history of the summer it is impossible to go minutely. WhatMr. Dillwyn did in Canada, and how Lois fought with ignorance andrudeness and prejudice in her new situation, Mrs. Barclay learned butvery imperfectly from the letters she received; so imperfectly, thatshe felt she knew nothing. Mr. Dillwyn never mentioned Miss Lothrop.Could it be that he had prematurely brought things to a decision, andso got them decided wrong? But in that case Mrs. Barclay felt sure somesign would have escaped Lois; and she gave none.

The summer passed, and two-thirds of the autumn.

One evening in the end of October, Mrs. Wishart was sitting alone inher back drawing-room. She was suffering from a cold, and coddlingherself over the fire. Her major-domo brought her Mr. Dillwyn's nameand request for admission, which was joyfully granted. Mrs. Wishart wasdenied to ordinary visitors; and Philip's arrival was like abenediction.

"Where have you been all summer?" she asked him, when they had talkedawhile of some things nearer home.

"In the backwoods of Canada."

"The backwoods of Canada!"

"I assure you it is a very enjoyable region."

"What could you find to do there?"

"More than enough. I spent my time between hunting – fishing – andstudying."

"Studying what, pray? Not backwoods farming, I suppose?"

"Well, no, not exactly. Backwoods farming is not precisely in my line."

"What is in your line that you could study there?"

"It is not a bad place to study anything; – if you except, perhaps, artand antiquity."

"I did not know you studied anything but art."

"It is hardly a sufficient object to fill a man's life worthily; do youthink so?"

"What would fill it worthily?" the lady asked, with a kind of drearyabstractedness. And if Philip had surprised her a moment before, he wassurprised in his turn. As he did not answer immediately, Mrs. Wishartwent on.

"A man's life, or a woman's life? What would fill it worthily? Do youknow? Sometimes it seems to me that we are all living for nothing."

"I am ready to confess that has been the case with me, – to my shame beit said."

"I mean, that there is nothing really worth living for."

"That cannot be true, however."

"Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I am unable to enjoyanything in my life. And yet, if you stop to think, what does anybody's life amount to? Nobody's missed, after he is gone; or onlyfor a minute; and for himself – There is not a year of my life that Ican remember, that I would be willing to live over again."

"Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end of existence. I mean,of this existence."

"What do we know of any other? And if we do not enjoy ourselves, praywhat in the world should we live for?"

"I have seen people that I thought enjoyed themselves," Philip saidslowly.

"Have you? Who were they? I do not know them."

"You know some of them. Do you recollect a friend of mine, for whom younegotiated lodgings at a far-off country village?"

"Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?"

"They took her. And I had the pleasure once or twice of visiting herthere."

"Did she like it?"

"Very much. She could not help liking it. And I thought those peopleseemed to enjoy life. Not relatively, but positively."

"The Lothrops!" cried Mrs. Wishart. "I can not conceive it. Why, theyare very poor."

"That made no hindrance, in their case."

"Poor people, I am afraid they have not been enjoying themselves thisyear."

"I heard of Mrs. Armadale's death."

"Yes. O, she was old; she could not be expected to live long. But theyare all broken up."

"How am I to understand that?"

"Well, you know they have very little to live upon. I suppose it wasfor that reason Lois went off to a distance from home to teach adistrict school. You know, – or do you know? – what country schoolsare, in some places; this was one of the places. Pretty rough; and hardliving. And then a railroad was opened in the neighbourhood – the placebecame sickly – a fever broke out among Lois's scholars and the familiesthey came from; and Lois spent her vacation in nursing. Then got sickherself with the fever, and is only just now getting well."

"I heard something of this before from Mrs. Barclay."

"Then Madge went to take care of Lois, and they were both there. Thatis weeks and weeks ago, – months, I should think."

"But the sick one is well again?"

"She is better. But one does not get up from those fevers so soon.One's strength is gone. I have sent for them to come and make me avisit and recruit."

"They are coming, I hope?"

"I expect them here to-morrow."

Mr. Dillwyn had nearly been betrayed into an exclamation. He rememberedhimself in time, and replied with proper self-possession that he wasvery glad to hear it.

"Yes, I told them to come here and rest. They must want it, poor girls, both of them."

"Then they are coming to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"By what train?"

"I believe, it is the New Haven train that gets in about five o'clock.

Or six. I do not know exactly."

"I know. Now, Mrs. Wishart, you are not well yourself, and must not goout. I will meet the train and bring them safe to you."

"You? O, that's delightful. I have been puzzling my brain to know how Ishould manage; for I am not fit to go out yet, and servants are sounsatisfactory. Will you really? That's good of you!"

"Not at all. It is the least I can do. The family received me mostkindly on more than one occasion; and I would gladly do them a greaterservice than this."

At two o'clock next day the waiting-room of the New Haven station held, among others, two very handsome young girls; who kept close together, waiting for their summons to the train. One of them was very pale andthin and feeble-looking, and indeed sat so that she leaned part of herweight upon her sister. Madge was pale too, and looked somewhatanxious. Both pairs of eyes watched languidly the moving, variousgroups of travellers clustered about in the room.

"Madge, it's like a dream!" murmured the one girl to the other.

"What? If you mean this crowd, my dreams have more order in them."

"I mean, being away from Esterbrooke, and off a sick-bed, and moving, and especially going to – where we are going. It's a dream!"

"Why?"

"Too good to be true. I had thought, do you know, I never should make avisit there again."

"Why not, Lois?"

"I thought it would be best not. But now the way seems clear, and I cantake the fun of it. It is clearly right to go."

"Of course! It is always right to go wherever you are asked."

"O no, Madge!"

"Well, – wherever the invitation is honest, I mean."

"O, that isn't enough."

"What else? supposing you have the means to go. I am not sure that wehave that condition in the present instance. But if you have, what elseis to be waited for?"

"Duty – " Lois whispered.

"O, bother duty! Here have you gone and almost killed yourself forduty."

"Well, – supposing one does kill oneself? – one must do what is duty."

"That isn't duty."

"O, it may be."

"Not to kill yourself. You have almost killed yourself, Lois."

"I couldn't help it."

"Yes, you could. You make duty a kind of iron thing."

"Not iron," said Lois; she spoke slowly and faintly, but now shesmiled. "It is golden!"

"That don't help. Chains of gold may be as hard to break as chains ofiron."

"Who wants them broken?" said Lois, in the same slow, contented way.

"Duty? Why Madge, it's the King's orders!"

"Do you mean that you were ordered to go to that place, and then tonurse those children through the fever?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I should be terribly afraid of duty, if I thought it came in suchshapes. There's the train! – Now if you can get downstairs – "

That was accomplished, though with tottering steps, and Lois was safelyseated in one of the cars, and her head pillowed upon the back of theseat. There was no more talking then for some time. Only when Haarlembridge was past and New York close at hand, Lois spoke.

"Madge, suppose Mrs. Wishart should not be here to meet us? You mustthink what you would do."

"Why, the train don't go any further, does it?"

"No! – but it goes back. I mean, it will not stand still for you. Itmoves away out of the station-house as soon as it is empty."

"There will be carriages waiting, I suppose. But I am sure I hope shewill meet us. I wrote in plenty of time. Don't worry, dear! we'llmanage."

"I am not worrying," said Lois. "I am a great deal too happy to worry."

However, that was not Madge's case, and she felt very fidgety. WithLois so feeble, and in a place so unknown to her, and with baggagechecks to dispose of, and so little time to do anything, and no doubt acrowd of doubtful characters lounging about, as she had always heardthey did in New York; Madge did wish very anxiously for a pilot and aprotector. As the train slowly moved into the Grand Central, sheeagerly looked to see some friend appear. But none appeared.

"We must go out, Madge," said Lois. "Maybe we shall find Mrs.

Wishart – I dare say we shall – she could not come into the cars – "

The two made their way accordingly, slowly, at the end of theprocession filing out of the car, till Madge got out upon the platform.There she uttered an exclamation of joy.

"O Lois! – there's Mr. Dillwyn?"

"But we are looking for Mrs. Wishart," said Lois.

The next thing she knew, however, somebody was carefully helping herdown to the landing; and then, her hand was on a stronger arm than thatof Mrs. Wishart, and she was slowly following the stream of people tothe front of the station-house. Lois was too exhausted by this time toask any questions; suffered herself to be put in a carriage passively, where Madge took her place also, while Mr. Dillwyn went to give thechecks of their baggage in charge to an expressman. Lois then broke outagain with,

"O Madge, it's like a dream!"

"Isn't it?" said Madge. "I have been in a regular fidget for two hourspast, for fear Mrs. Wishart would not be here."

"I didn't fidget," said Lois, "but I did not know how I was going toget from the cars to the carriage. I feel in a kind of exhaustedElysium!"

"It's convenient to have a man belonging to one," said Madge.

"Hush, pray!" said Lois, closing her eyes. And she hardly opened themagain until the carriage arrived at Mrs. Wishart's, which was somethingof a drive. Madge and Mr. Dillwyn kept up a lively conversation, aboutthe journey and Lois's condition, and her summer; and how he happenedto be at the Grand Central. He went to meet some friends, he saidcoolly, whom he expected to see by that train.

"Then we must have been in your way," exclaimed Madge regretfully.

"Not at all," he said.

"But we hindered you from taking care of your friends?"

"No," he said indifferently; "by no means. They are taken care of."

And both Madge and Lois were too simple to know what he meant.

At Mrs. Wishart's, Lois was again helped carefully out and carefullyin, and half carried up-stairs to her own room, whither it was decidedshe had better go at once. And there, after being furnished with a bowlof soup, she was left, while the others went down to tea. So Madgefound her an hour afterwards, sunk in the depths of a great, softeasy-chair, gazing at the fanciful flames of a kennel coal fire.

"O Madge, it's a dream!" Lois said again languidly, though with plentyof expression. "I can't believe in the change from Esterbrooke here."

"It's a change from Shampuashuh," Madge returned. "Lois, I didn't knowthings could be so pretty. And we have had the most delightful tea, andsomething – cakes – Mrs. Wishart calls wigs, the best things you eversaw in your life; but Mr. Dillwyn wouldn't let us send some up to you."

"Mr. Dillwyn!" —

"Yes, he said they were not good for you. He has been just as pleasantas he could be. I never saw anybody so pleasant. I like Mr. Dillwynvery much."

"Don't!" said Lois languidly.

"Why?"

"You had better not."

"But why not? You are ungrateful, it seems to me, if you don't likehim."

"I like him," said Lois slowly; "but he belongs to a different worldfrom ours. The worlds can't come together; so it is best not to likehim too much."

"How do you mean, a different world?"

"O, he's different, Madge! All his thoughts and ways and associationsare unlike ours – a great way off from ours; and must be. It is best asI said. I guess it is best not to like anybody too much."

With which oracular and superhumanly wise utterance Lois closed hereyes softly again. Madge, provoked, was about to carry on thediscussion, when, noticing how pale the cheek was which lay against thecrimson chair cushion, and how very delicate the lines of the face, shethought better of it and was silent. A while later, however, when shehad brought Lois a cup of gruel and biscuit, she broke out on a newtheme.

"What a thing it is, that some people should have so much silver, andother people so little!"

"What silver are you thinking of?"

"Why, Mrs. Wishart's, to be sure. Who's else? I never saw anything likeit, out of Aladdin's cave. Great urns, and salvers, and cream-jugs, andsugar-bowls, and cake-baskets, and pitchers, and salt-cellars. Thesalt-cellars were lined with something yellow, or washed, to hinder thestaining, I suppose."

"Gold," said Lois.

"Gold?"

"Yes. Plated with gold."

"Well I never saw anything like the sideboard down-stairs; thesideboard and the tea-table. It is funny, Lois, as I said, why someshould have so much, and others so little."

"We, you mean? What should we do with a load of silver?"

"I wish I had it, and then you'd see! You should have a silk dress, tobegin with, and so should I."

"Never mind," said Lois, letting her eyelids fall again with anexpression of supreme content, having finished her gruel. "There arecompensations, Madge."

"Compensations! What compensations? We are hardly respectably dressed, you and I, for this place."

"Never mind!" said Lois again. "If you had been sick as I was, and inthat place, and among those people, you would know something."

"What should I know?"

"How delightful this chair is; – and how good that gruel, out of a chinacup; – and how delicious all this luxury! Mrs. Wishart isn't as rich asI am to-night."

"The difference is, she can keep it, and you cannot, you poor child!"

"O yes, I can keep it," said Lois, in the slow, happy accent with whichshe said everything to-night; – "I can keep the remembrance of it, andthe good of it. When I get back to my work, I shall not want it."

"Your work!" said Madge.

"Yes."

"Esterbrooke!"

"Yes, if they want me."

"You are never going back to that place!" exclaimed Madgeenergetically. "Never! not with my good leave. Bury yourself in thatwild country, and kill yourself with hard work! Not if I know it."

"If that is the work given me," said Lois, in the same calm voice.

"They want somebody there, badly; and I have made a beginning."

"A nice beginning! – almost killed yourself. Now, Lois, don't thinkabout anything! Do you know, Mrs. Wishart says you are the handsomestgirl she ever saw!"

"That's a mistake. I know several much handsomer."

"She tried to make Mr. Dillwyn say so too; and he wouldn't."

"Naturally."

"It was funny to hear them; she tried to drive him up to the point, andhe wouldn't be driven; he said one clever thing after another, butalways managed to give her no answer; till at last she pinned him witha point-blank question."

"What did he do then?"

"Said what you said; that he had seen women who would be calledhandsomer."

The conversation dropped here, for Lois made no reply, and Madgerecollected she had talked enough.

CHAPTER XL
ATTENTIONS

It was days before Lois went down-stairs. She seemed indeed to be in nohurry. Her room was luxuriously comfortable; Madge tended her there, and Mrs. Wishart visited her; and Lois sat in her great easy-chair, andrested, and devoured the delicate meals that were brought her; and thecolour began gently to come back to her face, in the imperceptiblefashion in which a white Van Thol tulip takes on its hues of crimson.She began to read a little; but she did not care to go down-stairs.Madge told her everything that went on; who came, and what was said byone and another. Mr. Dillwyn's name was of very frequent occurrence.

"He's a real nice man!" said Madge enthusiastically.

"Madge, Madge, Madge! – you mustn't speak so," said Lois. "You must notsay 'real nice.'"

"I don't, down-stairs," said Madge, laughing. "It was only to you. Itis more expressive, Lois, sometimes, to speak wrong than to speakright."

"Do not speak so expressively, then."

"But I must, when I am speaking of Mr. Dillwyn. I never saw anybody sonice. He is teaching me to play chess, Lois, and it is such fun."

"It seems to me he comes here very often."

"He does; he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart's, and she is as glad tosee him as I am."

"Don't be too glad, Madge. I do not like to hear you speak so."

"Why not?"

"It was one of the reasons why I did not want to accept Mrs. Barclay'sinvitation last winter, that I knew he would be visiting herconstantly. I did not expect to see him here much." Lois looked grave.

"What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't one have the pleasure?For it is a pleasure; his talk is so bright, and his manner is so verykind and graceful; and he is so kind. He is going to take me to driveagain."

"You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that enough?"

"It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said, laughing again. "Mr.Dillwyn talks, something one likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tellsme about old families, and where they used to live, and where they livenow; what do I care about old New York families! And Mr. Dillwyn letsme talk. I never have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart; shedoes it all."

"I would rather have you go driving with her, though."

"Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go with Mr. Dillwyn."

"Don't like it too well."

"How can I like it too well?"

"So much that you would miss it, when you do not have it any longer."

"Miss it!" said Madge, half angrily. "I might miss it, as I mightmiss any pleasant thing; but I could stand that. I'm not a chicken justout of the egg. I have missed things before now, and it hasn't killedme."

"Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a question of how much youcan stand. But the men like – like this one – are so pleasant with theirgraceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you and me might easilybe drawn on, without knowing it, further than they want to go."

"He does not want to draw anybody on!" said Madge indignantly.

"That's the very thing. You might think – or I might think – thatpleasant manner means something; and it don't mean anything."

"I don't want it to 'mean anything,' as you say; but what has our beingcountry girls to do with it?"

"We are not accustomed to that sort of society, and so it makes, Isuppose, more impression. And what might mean something to others, would not to us. From such men, I mean."

"What do you mean by 'such men'?" asked Madge, who was getting ratherexcited.

"Rich – fashionable – belonging to the great world, and having the waysof it. You know what Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have inShainpuashuh."

"But, Lois! – what are you talking about? I don't care a red cent forall this, but I want to understand. You said such a manner would meannothing to us."

"Yes."

"Why not to us, as well as anybody else?"

"Because we are nobodies, Madge."

"What do you mean?" said the other hotly.

"Just that. It is quite true. You are nobody, and I am nobody. You see,if we were somebody, it would be different."

"If you think – I'll tell you what, Lois! I think you are fit to be thewife of the best man that lives and breathes."

"I think so myself," Lois returned quietly.

"And I am."

"I think you are, Madge. But that makes no difference. My dear, we arenobody."

"How?" – impatiently. "Isn't our family as respectable as anybody's?

Haven't we had governors and governors, of Massachusetts and

Connecticut both; and judges and ministers, ever so many, among our ancestors? And didn't a half-dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the

'Mayflower'?"

"Yes, Madge; all true; and I am as glad of it as you are."

"Then you talk nonsense!"

"No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I have seen a little moreof the world than you have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but alittle more than you; and I know what I am talking about. We areunknown, we are not rich, we have none of what they call 'connections.'So you see I do not want you to like too much a person who, beyondcivility, and kindness perhaps, would never think of liking you."

"I don't want him to, that's one thing," said Madge. "But if all thatis true, he is meaner than I think him; that's what I've got to say.And it is a mean state of society where all that can be true."

"I suppose it is human nature," said Lois.

"It's awfully mean human nature!"

"I guess there is not much true nobleness but where the religion of

Christ comes in. If you have got that, Madge, be content and thankful."

"But nobody likes to be unjustly depreciated."

"Isn't that pride?"

"One must have some pride. I can't make religion everything, Lois. Iwas a woman before I was a Christian."

"If you want to be a happy woman, you will let religion be everything."

"But, Lois! – wouldn't you like to be rich, and have pretty thingsabout you?"

"Don't ask me," said Lois, smiling. "I am a woman too, and dearly fondof pretty things. But, Madge, there is something else I love better,"she added, with a sudden sweet gravity; "and that is, the will of myGod. I would rather have what he chooses to give me. Really and truly;I would rather have that."

The conversation therewith was at an end. In the evening of that sameday Lois left her seclusion and came down-stairs for the first time.She was languid enough yet to be obliged to move slowly, and her cheekshad not got back their full colour, and were thinner than they used tobe; otherwise she looked well, and Mrs. Wishart contemplated her withgreat satisfaction. Somewhat to Lois's vexation, or she thought so, they found Mr. DilIwyn down-stairs also. Lois had the invalid's placeof honour, in a corner of the sofa, with a little table drawn up forher separate tea; and Madge and Mr. Dillwyn made toast for her at thefire. The fire gave its warm light, the lamps glittered with a morebrilliant illumination; ruddy hues of tapestry and white gleams fromsilver and glass filled the room, with lights and shadows everywhere, that contented the eye and the imagination too, with suggestions ofluxury and plenty and sheltered comfort. Lois felt the shelter and thecomfort and the pleasure, with that enhanced intensity which belongs toone's sensations in a state of convalescence, and in her case washeightened by previous experiences. Nestled among cushions in hercorner, she watched everything and took the effect of every detail; tasted every flavour of the situation; but all with a thoughtful, wordless gravity; she hardly spoke at all.

After tea, Mr. Dillwyn and Madge sat down to the chess-board. And thenLois's attention fastened upon them. Madge had drawn the little tablethat held the chessmen into very close proximity to the sofa, so thatshe was just at Lois's hand; but then her whole mind was bent upon thegame, and Lois could study her as she pleased. She did study Madge. Sheadmired her sister's great beauty; the glossy black hair, the delicateskin, the excellent features, the pretty figure. Madge was veryhandsome, there was no doubt; Mr. Dillwyn would not have far to look,Lois thought, to find one handsomer than herself was. There was afrank, fine expression of face, too; and manners thoroughly good. Theylacked some of the quietness of long usage, Lois thought; a quick lookor movement now and then, or her eager eyes, or an abrupt tone ofvoice, did in some measure betray the country girl, to whom everythingwas novel and interesting; and distinguished her from the half blasé,wholly indifferent air of other people. She will learn that quietnesssoon enough, thought Lois; and then, nothing could be left to desire inMadge. The quietness had always been a characteristic of Lois herself; partly difference of temperament, partly the sweeter poise of Lois'smind, had made this difference between the sisters; and now of courseLois had had more experience of people and the world. But it was not inher the result of experience, this fair, unshaken balance of mind andmanner which was always a charm in her. However, this by the way; thegirl herself was drawing no comparisons, except so far as to judge hersister handsomer than herself.

From Madge her eye strayed to Mr. Dillwyn, and studied him. She waslying back a little in shadow, and could do it safely. He was teachingMadge the game; and Lois could not but acknowledge and admire in himthe finished manner she missed in her sister. Yes, she could not helpadmiring it. The gentle, graceful, easy way, in which he directed her, gave reproofs and suggestions about the game, and at the same time keptup a running conversation with Mrs. Wishart; letting not one thinginterfere with another, nor failing for a moment to attend to bothladies. There was a quiet perfection about the whole home picture; itremained in Lois's memory for ever. Mrs. Wishart sat on an oppositesofa knitting; not a long blue stocking, like her dear grandmother, buta web of wonderful hues, thick and soft, and various as the feathers ona peacock's neck. It harmonized with all the rest of the room, wherewarmth and colour and a certain fulness of detail gave the impressionof long-established easy living. The contrast was very strong withLois's own life surroundings; she compared and contrasted, and was notquite sure how much of this sort of thing might be good for her.However, for the present here she was, and she enjoyed it. Then shequeried if Mr. Dillwyn were enjoying it. She noticed the hand which hehad run through the locks of his hair, resting his head on the hand. Itwas well formed, well kept; in that nothing remarkable; but there was acertain character of energy in the fingers which did not look like thehand of a lazy man. How could he spend his life so in doing nothing?She did not fancy that he cared much about the game, or much about thetalk; what was he there for, so often? Did he, possibly, care aboutMadge? Lois's thoughts came back to the conversation.

"Mrs. Wishart, what is to be done with the poor of our city?" Mr.

Dillwyn was saying.

"I don't know! I wish something could be done with them, to keep themfrom coming to the house. My cook turns away a dozen a day, some days."

"Those are not the poor I mean."

"They are poor enough."

"They are to a large extent pretenders. I mean the masses of solidpoverty which fill certain parts of the city – and not small partseither. It is no pretence there."

"I thought there were societies enough to look after them. I know I paymy share to keep up the societies. What are they doing?"

"Something, I suppose. As if a man should carry a watering-pot to

Vesuvius."

"What in the world has turned your attention that way? I pay mysubscriptions, and then I discharge the matter from my mind. It is thebusiness of the societies. What has set you to thinking about it?"

"Something I have seen, and something I have heard."

"What have you heard? Are you studying political economy? I did notknow you studied anything but art criticism."

"What do you do with your poor at Shampuashuh, Miss Madge?"

"We do not have any poor. That is, hardly any. There is nobody in thepoorhouse. A few – perhaps half a dozen – people, cannot quite supportthemselves. Check to your queen, Mr. Dillwyn."

"What do you do with them?"

"O, take care of them. It's very simple. They understand that wheneverthey are in absolute need of it, they can go to the store and get whatthey want."

"At whose expense?"

"O, there is a fund there for them. Some of the better-off people takecare of that."

"I should think that would be quite too simple," said Mrs. Wishart,"and extremely liable to abuse."

"It is never abused, though. Some of the people, those poor ones, willcome as near as possible to starving before they will apply foranything."

Mrs. Wishart remarked that Shampuashuh was altogether unlike all otherplaces she ever had heard of.

"Things at Shampuashuh are as they ought to be," Mr. Dillwyn said.

"Now, Mr. Dillwyn," cried Madge, "I will forgive you for taking myqueen, if you will answer a question for me. What is 'art criticism'?"

"Why, Madge, you know!" said Lois from her sofa corner.

"I do not admire ignorance so much as to pretend to it," Madgerejoined. "What is art criticism, Mr. Dillwyn?"

"What is art?"

"That is what I do not know!" said Madge, laughing. "I understandcriticism. It is the art that bothers me. I only know that it issomething as far from nature as possible."

"O Madge, Madge!" said Lois again; and Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little.

"On the contrary, Miss Madge. Your learning must be unlearnt. Art isreally so near to nature – Check! – that it consists in giving again thefacts and effects of nature in human language."

"Human language? That is, letters and words?"

"Those are the symbols of one language."

"What other is there?"

"Music – painting – architecture – I am afraid, Miss Madge, that ischeck-mate?"

"You said you had seen and heard something, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Wishartnow began. "Do tell us what. I have neither seen nor heard anything inan age."

Mr. Dillwyn was setting the chessmen again.

"What I saw," he said, "was a silk necktie – or scarf – such as we wear.

What I heard, was the price paid for making it."

"Was there anything remarkable about the scarf?"

"Nothing whatever; except the aforesaid price."

"What was the price paid for making it?"

"Two cents."