"It is the popular women who make shipwreck of their lives, and the unpopular ones who sail safely into pleasant havens. My experience is that the attractive women get the nice little things, and the unattractive ones the nice big things in this world." And Lady Farley sighed, as she sat down to answer invitations.
"I know," said Isabel, rising from her chair and strolling doorwards, "the latter, out of sheer gratitude, marry the first man that asks them, and spend the rest of their lives in returning thanks for his kind inquiry."
That night Isabel went with her uncle and aunt to the State Concert. The scene was as brilliant as usual, with the gay dresses and uniforms—with the daïs for Royalty at one end of the great saloon, and the musicians' gallery at the other, the intervening space being filled up with the cream of English society.
"I say," cried Lord Robert Thistletown, plumping himself down beside them as soon as they had taken their seats, "there will be a sound of revelry this night without a doubt; for I see a chorus out of one of old Wagner's things down on the programme, and he is the best chap for making a row I ever came across."
"You should not speak disrespectfully of Wagner," corrected Isabel, "he is one of the greatest composers—as I am one of the greatest conversationalists—of the age."
"I am not disrespectful; I only think that, compared with you and Wagner, the rest of the world is silence."
"I see it is the Chorus of Flower Maidens out of Parsifal," remarked Isabel.
"I suppose all those young women in white are the maidens; but which are the flowers, I wonder?"
"Yourself, my dear young friend; you are the flower of the English aristocracy, don't you know?"
"Of course I am. Yet sometimes I forget that I am a flower, and behave like a stinging nettle. That is when the brilliancy of my wit outruns the benevolence of my heart."