CHAPTER VII
THE DUCHESS'S "AT HOME"
"The perfect man," the Duchess murmured, as she stirred her tea, "does not exist. I know a dozen perfect women, dear, dull creatures, and plenty of men who know how to cover up the flaw. But there is something in the composition of the male sex which keeps them always a little below the highest pinnacle."
"It is purely a matter of concealment," her friend declared. "Women are cleverer humbugs than men."
Borrowdean shrugged his shoulders.
"I know your perfect woman!" he remarked, softly. "You search for her through the best years of your life, and when you have found her you avoid her. That," he added, handing his empty cup to a footman, "is why I am a bachelor."
The Duchess regarded him complacently.
"My dear Sir Leslie," she said, "I am afraid you will have to find a better reason for your miserable state. The perfect woman would certainly have nothing to do with you if you found her."
"On the contrary," he declared, confidently, "I am convinced that she would find me attractive."
The Duchess shook her head.