hate the life. But I suppose she'll have to go her own
way."

Valentia paused and looked pensively in the glass.

"And dear Van Buren, he's been pretty badly treated, I think. I suppose
he knows it isn't my fault or Harry's. I try to make up for it in lots
of ways--by getting him an introduction to the man who wants to fly
across the Atlantic. I really hoped he would say to Van Buren, 'Fly with
me!' but he didn't, and in the most roundabout way and by the most
fearful lot of trouble--chiefly through me--he was asked to dinner to
meet that other man--I forget his name, the one who keeps on discovering
the North Pole. And it seems he is a dear, and awfully good-looking. And
then he--Van, I mean--has met Bernard Shaw, and Graham White, and Lloyd
George, and Thomas Hardy, and Sargent, and Lord Roberts, and Henry
James, and even Gabrielle Ray, so he hasn't had such a bad time in
London. I don't see that he has anything to complain of, do you, Romer?"

"Shouldn't think so."

"That was what he wanted, you know," continued Valentia. "But if we
couldn't get him a wife as well, it's not our fault. I'm sure we've
tried our best. He's such a dear, and very fond of England. He has been
most useful to Harry, I'm sure; and----I think the new fashions are
simply frightful. The new way they're going to do the hair will be
revoltingly unbecoming, and the whole thing will make every one look
hopelessly dowdy. The smarter you are, the more of a frump you will
look!"

"Oh, I say, Val!"

"Yes, you will--I mean I will, but I won't.... Because I'm not going to
follow the fashion like a sheep. And if you're not very careful I shall
dress in a style of my own."

"Like a sheep! Do sheep follow the fashion?"

"Of course they do. Didn't you know that? What one does all the rest do.
Of course it doesn't change so often--even in the best Southdown
circles--at least _we_ don't notice the change. When a new kind of 'baa'
comes in and they all echo it we don't see any difference, but I don't
suppose they see any difference in our fashions either. Oh, and Romer,
I've been worried because I feel I've got so frightfully empty-headed
and unintellectual through just _living_, never reading or thinking,
when we go down to the Green Gate I shall read a lot of serious books.
I'm going to read H. G. Wells, and Hichens, and Aristotle, and some
history, and all sorts of 'improving' things. When are we going?"

"As soon as possible," said Romer, brighten