ardens,
lawns, the river, and a deer park.

So the invitation was accepted, and Mr. Smithson immediately laid
himself at Lesbia's feet, as it were, with regard to all other
invitations for the Henley festival. Whom should he ask to meet
her?--whom would she have?

'You are very good,' she said, 'but I have really no wish to be
consulted. I am not a royal personage, remember. I could not presume to
dictate.'

'But I wish you to dictate. I wish you to be imperious in the expression
of your wishes.'

'Lady Kirkbank has a better right than I, if anybody is to be
consulted,' said Lesbia, modestly.

'Lady Kirkbank is an old dear, who gets on delightfully with everybody.
But you are more sensitive. Your comfort might be marred by an obnoxious
presence. I will ask nobody whom you do not like--who is not thoroughly
_simpatico_. Have you no particular friends of your own choosing whom
you would like me to ask?'

Lesbia confessed that she had no such friends. She liked everybody
tolerably; but she had not a talent for friendship. Perhaps it was
because in the London season one was too busy to make friends.

'I can fancy two girls getting quite attached to each other, out of the
season,' she said, 'but in May and June life is all a rush and a
scramble----'

'And one has no time to gather wayside flowers of friendship,'
interjected Mr. Smithson. 'Still, if there are no people for whom you
have an especial liking, there _must_ be people whom you detest.'

Lesbia owned that it was so. Detestation came of itself, naturally.

'Then let me be sure I do not ask any of your pet aversions,' said Mr.
Smithson. 'You met Mr. Plantagenet Parsons, the theatrical critic, at my
house. Shall we have him?'

'I like all amusing people.'

'And Horace Meander, the poet. Shall we have him? He is brimful of
conceits and affectations, but he's a tremendous joke.'

'Mr. Meander is charming.'

'Suppose we ask Mostyn and his wife? Her scraps of science are rather
good fun.'

'I haven't the faintest objection to the Mostyns,' replied Lesbia. 'But
who are "we"?'

'We are you and I, for the nonce. The invitations will be issued
ostensibly by me, but they will really emanate from you.'

'I am to be the shadow behind the throne,' said Lesbia. 'How
delightful!'

'I would rather you were the sovereign ruler, on the throne,' answered
Smithson, tenderly. 'That throne shall be empty till you fill it.'

'Please go on with your list of people,