s disappeared.
The nobleman, the prince, was a great person in the times when he
monopolized wealth. It enabled him to monopolize almost everything
else that was pleasant or superb. He had the arts and the books and the
musicians and the silks and velvets, and the bath-tubs--everything that
made existence gorgeous--all to himself. He had war to amuse himself
with, and the seven deadly sins. The barriers are down now. Everything
which used to be exclusively the nobleman's is now within everybody's
reach, including the sins. And it is not only that others have levelled
up to him; they have levelled him down. He cannot dress now more
expensively than other people. Gambling used to be recognized as one of
his normal relaxations, but now, the higher his rank, the more sharply
he is scolded for it. Naturally he does not know what to do with
himself. As an institution, he descends from a period when the only
imaginable use for wealth was to be magnificent with it. But now in this
business age, where the recognized use of wealth is to make more
wealth, he is so much out of place that he has even forgotten how to
be magnificent. There are some illustrated articles in one of the
magazines, giving photographs of the great historic country-houses of
England. You should see the pictures of the interiors. The furniture and
decorations are precisely what a Brixton dressmaker would buy, if she
suddenly came into some money."

"All the same," Thorpe stuck to his point, "you are not happy."

The Duke frowned faintly, as if at the other's persistency. Then he
shrugged his shoulders and answered in a lighter tone. "It hardly
amounts to that, I think. I confess that there are alleviations to
my lot. In the opinion of the world I am one of its most fortunate
citizens--and it is not for me to say that the world is altogether
wrong. The chief point is--I don't know if you will quite follow
me--there are limits to what position and fortune can give a man. And so
easily they may deprive him of pleasures which poorer men enjoy! I may
be wrong, but it seems impossible to me that any rich man who has acres
of gardens and vineries and glass can get up the same affection for
it all that the cottager will have for his little flower-plot, that he
tends with his own hands. One seems outside the realities of life--a
mere spectator at the show."

"Ah, but why not DO things?" Thorpe demanded of him. "Why merely stand,
as you say, and look on?"

The ot