slightly that his eyes might be a little lifted in awaiting her reply.
"What, may I ask, is your opinion as to the state of Art in England?"
"Oh," said Felicia, with a light deprecatory laugh, "I think it suffers from two diseases—bad taste in the patrons and want of inspiration in the artists."
"That is true indeed," said Hinze, in an undertone of deep conviction. "You have put your finger with strict accuracy on the causes of decline. To a cultivated taste like yours this must be particularly painful."
"I did not say there was actual decline," said Felicia, with a touch of brusquerie. "I don't set myself up as the great personage whom nothing can please."
"That would be too severe a misfortune for others," says my complimentary ape. "You approve, perhaps, of Rosemary's 'Babes in the Wood,' as something fresh and naove in sculpture?"
"I think it enchanting."
"Does he know that? Or will you permit me to tell him?"
"Heaven forbid! It would be an imperti-
