"Guess you're through," laughs Mrs. Woollffe. "Well, so was I."
"'Yes,' she went on. 'We yearn for all that is most soul-uplifting. We each set a distinct object before our mind's eye, and absorb ourselves in its contemplation. These moments are truly precious for those who can be brought to appreciate their intensity. We are most of us earnest students of our faith—disciples of culture—worshippers of the beautiful—the far-reaching—the subtle—the sublime!'
"'And don't you ever speak?' I asked her; for of all the vacant-eyed, sleepy idiots in creation I never came across such a set as were 'yearning' there.
"'Speak—oh yes—in season and at proper times,' she says. 'But thought is often more beautiful than words, and language is deficient in much that might clothe and dignify our ideas.'
"Keith chimed in here. 'Yes,' he said; 'they are apt to sound ridiculous when it comes to clothing them in common-place speech.'" The listeners exchange glances.
"And this was really how they went on—how idiotic!" murmurs Mrs. Douglas. "I knew Lady Etwynde was always very eccentric, but I think she is quite going out of her mind now. I hope she won't imbue Lauraine with any of her absurd ideas. How was she dressed—Lauraine, I mean?"
"Oh! quite æsthetic!" exclaims Mrs. Woollffe. "Indian silk, creamy coloured, big puffs, and very clinging about the skirt, and an 'intense' hat. I know it was intense, because Keith said so."
"What made Mr. Athelstone go to such a nonsensical affair?" demands Mrs. Douglas, frowning.
"Didn't ask him. S'pose he likes to 'yearn' a bit also. Perhaps it's refreshing to fix one's mind on an object and meditate upon it. Can't say myself. Don't think I ever tried it."
"And didn't they do anything?" inquires Mrs. Chetwynde.