He laughed. “Lady Narborough,” he whispered. “She perfectly adores him.”
“You fill me with apprehension. The appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists.”
“Romanticists! You have all the methods of science.”
“Men have educated us.”
“But not explained you.”
“Describe us as a sex,” was her challenge.
“Sphinxes without secrets.”
She looked at him, smiling. “How long Mr. Gray is!” she said. “Let us go and help him. I have not yet told him the colour of my frock.”
“Ah! you must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys.”
“That would be a premature surrender.”
“Romantic art begins with its climax.”
“I must keep an opportunity for retreat.”
“In the Parthian manner?”
“They found safety in the desert. I could not do that.”
“Women are not always allowed a choice,” he answered, but hardly had he finished the sentence before from the far end of the conservatory came a stifled groan, followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall. Everybody started up. The duchess stood motionless in horror. And with fear in his eyes, Lord Henry rushed through the flapping palms to