is only capability."

"But some capable people are surely unlucky."

"They are incapable in one direction or another. Have you not noticed
that whenever a man is a failure his friends say he is an able man. No
man is able who is unable to get on, just as no woman is clever who
can't succeed in obtaining that worst, and most necessary, of evils--a
husband."

"You are very cynical," said Lady Locke, flicking the pony's fat white
back with the whip.

"All intelligent people are. Cynicism is merely the art of seeing things
as they are instead of as they ought to be. If one says that
Christianity has never converted the Christians, or that love has ruined
more women than hate, or that virtue is an accident of environment, one
is sure to be dubbed a cynic. And yet all these remarks are true to
absolute absurdity."

"I scarcely think so."

"But, then, you have been in the Straits Settlements for eight years.
They are true in London. And there are practically not more than about
five universal truths in the world. One must always locate a truth if
one wishes to be understood. What is true in London is often a lie in
the country. I believe that there are still many good Christians in the
country, but they are only good Christians because they are in the
country--most of them. Our virtues are generally a fortunate, or
unfortunate, accident, and the same may be said of our vices. Now, think
of Lord Reggie. He is one of the most utterly vicious young men of the
day. Why? Because, like the chameleon, he takes his colour from whatever
he rests upon, or is put near. And he has been put near scarlet instead
of white."

Lady Locke felt a strange thrill of pain at her heart.

"I am sure Lord Reggie has a great deal of good in him!" she exclaimed.

"Not enough to spoil his charm," said Madame Valtesi. "He has no real
intention of being either bad or good. He lives like Esme Amarinth,
merely to be artistic."

"But what in Heaven's name does that word mean?" asked Lady Locke. "It
seems almost the only modern word. I hear it everywhere like a sort of
refrain."

"I cannot tell you. I am too old. Ask Lord Reggie. He would tell you
anything."

The last words were spoken with slow intention.

"What do you mean?" said Lady Locke hastily.

"Here we are at the post-office. Would it not be the proper thing to do
to get some stamps? No? Then let us stop at the linen-draper's. I feel a
strong desire to buy some village frilling. An