nnium will arrive when the false
balance between man and woman is properly adjusted--not before. And that
means universal education. . . . Did you ever hear that old, old song,
written two centuries ago--the 'Education of Phyllis'? No? Listen then
and be ashamed."

And lying there, the back of one hand above her eyes, she sang in a
sweet, childish, mocking voice, tremulous with hidden laughter, the song
of Phyllis the shepherdess and Sylvandre the shepherd--how Phyllis, more
avaricious than sentimental, made Sylvandre pay her thirty sheep for one
kiss; how, next day, the price shifted to one sheep for thirty kisses;
and then the dreadful demoralisation of Phyllis:

"Le lendemain, Philis, plus tendre
Fut trop heureuse de lui rendre
Trente moutons pour un baiser!

* * * * *

Le lendemain, Philis, peu sage,
Aurait donne moutons et chien
Pour un baiser que le volage
A Lisette donnait pour rien!"

"And there we are," said Eileen, sitting up abruptly and levelling the
pink-tipped finger of accusation at him--"_there_, if you please, lies
the woe of the world--not in the armaments of nations! That old French
poet understood in half a second more than your Hague tribunal could
comprehend in its first Cathayan cycle! There lies the hope of your
millennium--in the higher education of the modern Phyllis."

"And the up-to-date Sylvandre," added Selwyn.

"He knows too much already," she retorted, delicate nose in the
air. . . . "Hark! Ear to the ground! My atavistic and wilder instincts
warn me that somebody is coming!"

"Boots and Drina," said Selwyn; and he hailed them as they came into
view above. Then he sprang to his feet, calling out: "And Gerald, too!
Hello, old fellow! This is perfectly fine! When did you arrive?"

"Oh, Gerald!" cried Eileen, both hands outstretched--"it's splendid of
you to come! Dear fellow! have you seen Nina and Austin? And were they
not delighted? And you've come to stay, haven't you? There, I won't
begin to urge you. . . . Look, Gerald--look, Boots--and Drina, too--only
look at those beautiful big plump trout in Captain Selwyn's creel!"

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Gerald, "you didn't take those in that little
brook--did you, Philip? Well, wouldn't that snare you! I'm coming down
here after luncheon; I sure am."

"You will, too, won't you?" asked Drina, jealous lest Boots, her idol,
miss his due share of piscatorial glory.