"Might I have chosen a character, in which to have handed Lady Dora down, by my humble skill, to posterity, I should have selected her present one. Lady, I never saw you so perfect as in your Amazonian costume; it suits your style far better than Diana even," and Tremenhere bent his eyes in well-schooled admiration upon her; still the effort was not an immense one, for, as an artist, he could not but have admired her perfection of beauty in this dress; then, too, she was grace personified in the management of a spirited horse, which seemed as a part of herself in pride of beauty.
"Why do you object to Diana?" she inquired, fixing her full gaze upon him undauntedly, in all its fire.
"Diana," said Lord Randolph, before the other could reply, "conveys to my mind the idea of a lady over fond of being out at night, not a loving bride or wife," and he laughed significantly at Lady Dora, who turned away towards Tremenhere.
"You have not answered my question," she said.
"Something of Lord Randolph's thought is mine," he replied. "Diana is cold, uncheered, uncheering; she sails onward in her dignity and splendour, surrounded by satellites, uncaring for them all, beautiful, but unloving."
"What do you say to Endymion?" she asked, and her glance crossed his.
"She loved him, and he slept!" was the calm reply.
"That was his fault; 'she could not wake his eye-lids with her kiss,'" fell from her lips.
"Because," answered Tremenhere, "it was too queenly, too cold; had Venus embraced him, he would have started into waking life and love!" Her eye fell beneath his glance.
"The 'Mezzo' must put in a note," said Lord Randolph.