Doucet. "Not at all! The poet, who is inspired———"
But the poet's organ-pipe is here overpowered by the professor's sharp-pitched treble; and though Doucet retains an audience at the lower end of the table, the conversation is carried on at the upper end, independent of him.
Genron (to Elton). "Have you young decadent poets in England, monsieur?"
Elton. "A few, I am told. Not very poetical myself. No poetry like Pope, I think—so quotable. Don't you think so, Miss Shaw?"
Eliza. (smiling). "Is not that rather like saying, 'There is no painter like Hogarth'?"
Elton. "Well, to me there is none. Faithful mirror of his age. Sense, satire, moral sequence, cause and effect—what do you want more in a picture?"
Baring. "I want less, and I want more."
Elton. "Hm! I like truth. Suppose I have no imagination."
Genron. "The strong point of your nation. We have too much, and so we come to grief. Phlegm is the Englishman's force, and it is a great force in the conduct of human affairs."
Mdme. Martineau (fearing the cynical professor's speech is rude, throws herself into the breach). "But what a wise nation! So noble! No revolutions, like us! Ah, what a blessing!"
Elton. "Madame has known many English?"
Mdme. M. "No, monsieur, not many. I should have visited England once, but events———" (Here she throws up her expressive eyes.)
