"Yes, Miss Lois. American ladies are very fond of diamonds; and it is a common thing for one of them to have from ten thousand to twenty thousand or thirty thousand dollars' worth of them as part of the adornment of her pretty person at one time."

"Twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds on at once!" cried Madge.

"I call that wicked!"

"Why?" asked Mr. Dillwyn, smiling.

"There's no wickedness in it," said Mrs. Wishart. "How should it be wicked? You put on a flower; and another, who can afford it, puts on a diamond. What's the difference?"

"My flower does not cost anybody anything," said Madge.

"What do my diamonds cost anybody?" returned Mrs. Wishart.

Madge was silent, though not because she had nothing to say; and at this precise moment the door opened, and visitors were ushered in.

CHAPTER XLI.

CHESS.

There entered upon the scene, that is, a little lady of very gay and airy manner; whose airiness, however, was thoroughly well bred. She was accompanied by a tall, pleasant-looking man, of somewhat dreamy aspect; and they were named to Lois and Madge as Mrs. and Mr. Burrage. To Mr.

Dillwyn they were not named; and the greet ing in that quarter was familiar; the lady giving him a nod, and the gentleman an easy "Good evening." The lady's attention came round to him again as soon as she was seated.

"Why, Philip, I did not expect to find you. What are you doing here?"

"I was making toast a little while ago."

"I did not know that was one of your accomplishments."

"They said I did it well. I have picked up a good deal of cooking in the course of my travels."

"In what part of the world did you learn to make toast?" asked the lady, while a pair of lively eyes seemed to take note rapidly of all that was in the room; rapidly but carefully, Lois thought. She was glad she herself was hidden in the shadowy sofa corner.

"I believe that is always learned in a cold country, where people have fire," Mr. Dillwyn answered the question.

"These people who travel all over get to be insufferable!" the little lady went on, turning to Mrs. Wishart; "they think they know everything; and they are not a bit wiser than the rest of us. You were not at the De Large's luncheon,--what a pity! I know; your cold shut you up. You must take care of that cold. Well, you lost something. This is the seventh entertainment that has been given to that English party; and every one of them has exceeded the others. There is nothing left for the eighth. n.o.body will dare give an eighth. One is fairly tired with the struggle of magnificence. It's the battle of the giants over again, with a difference."

"It is not a battle with attempt to destroy," said her husband.

"Yes, it is--to destroy compet.i.tion. I have been at every one of the seven but one--and I am absolutely tired with splendour. But there is really nothing left for any one else to do. I don't see how one is to go any further--without the lamp of Aladdin."

"A return to simplicity would be grateful," remarked Mrs. Wishart. "And as new as anything else could be."

"Simplicity! O, my dear Mrs. Wishart!--don't talk of simplicity. We don't want simplicity. We have got past that. Simplicity is the dream of children and country folks; and it means, eating your meat with your fingers."

"It's the sweetest way of all," said Dillwyn.

"Where did you discover that? It must have been among savages.

Children--country folks--_and_ savages, I ought to have said."

"Orientals are not savages. On the contrary, very far exceeding in politeness any western nation I know of."

"You would set a table, then, with napkins and fingers! Or are the napkins not essential?"

"C'est selon," said Dillwyn. "In a strawberry bed, or under a cherry tree, I should vote them a nuisance. At an Asiatic grandee's table you would have them embroidered and perfumed; and one for your lap and another for your lips."

"Evidently they are long past the stage of simplicity. Talking of napkins we had them embroidered--and exquisitely--j.a.panese work; at the De Larges'. Mine had a peac.o.c.k in one corner; or I don't know if it was a peac.o.c.k; it was a gay-feathered bird--"

"A peac.o.c.k has a tail," suggested Mr. Dillwyn.

"Well, I don't know whether it had a tail, but it was most exquisite; in blue and red and gold; I never saw anything prettier. And at every plate were such exquisite gifts! really elegant, you know. Flowers are all very well; but when it comes to jewellery, I think it is a little beyond good taste. Everybody can't do it, you know; and it is rather embarra.s.sing to _nous autres_."

"Simplicity _has_ its advantages," observed Mr. Dillwyn.

"Nonsense, Philip! You are as artificial a man as any one I know."

"In what sense?" asked Mr. Dillwyn calmly. "You are bound to explain, for the sake of my character, that I do not wear false heels to my boots."

"Don't be ridiculous! You have no need to wear false heels. _Art_ need not be _false_, need it?"

"True art never is," said Mr. Dillwyn, amid some laughter.

"Well, artifice, then?"

"Artifice, I am afraid, is of another family, and not allied to truth."

"Well, everybody that knows you knows you are true; but they know, too, that if ever there was a fastidious man, it is you; and a man that wants everything at its last pitch of refinement."

"Which desirable stage I should say the luncheon you were describing had not reached."

"You don't know. I had not told you the half. Fancy!--the ice floated in our gla.s.ses in the form of pond lilies; as pretty as possible, with broad leaves and buds."

"How did they get it in such shapes?" asked Madge, with her eyes a trifle wider open than was usual with them.

"O, froze it in moulds, of course. But you might have fancied the fairies had carved it. Then, Mrs. Wishart, there was an arrangement of gla.s.ses over the gas burners, which produced the most silver sounds of music you ever heard; no chime, you know, of course; but a most peculiar, sweet, mysterious succession of musical breathings. Add to that, by means of some invisible vaporizers, the whole air was filled with sweetness; now it was orange flowers, and now it was roses, and then again it would be heliotrope or violets; I never saw anything so refined and so exquisite in my life. Waves of sweetness, rising and falling, coming and going, and changing; it was perfect."

The little lady delivered herself of this description with much animation, accompanying the latter part of it with a soft waving of her hand; which altogether overcame Philip's gravity, and he burst into a laugh, in which Mr. Burrage presently joined him; and Lois and Madge found it impossible not to follow.

"What's the matter, Philip?" the lady asked.

"I am reminded of an old gentleman I once saw at Gratz; he was copying the Madonna della Seggia in a mosaic made with the different-coloured wax heads of matches."