"He's scarcely a barbarian, I think," said Courtney, with some amusement; "he is the great French artist, the 'lion' of Paris just now,--only secondary to Sarah Bernhardt."
"Artists are always barbarians," declared Lady Fulkeward enthusiastically. "They paint naughty people without any clothes on; they never have any idea of time; they never keep their appointments; and they are always falling in love with the wrong person and getting into trouble, which is so nice of them! That's why I worship them all. They are so refreshingly unlike OUR set!"
Courtney raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"You know what I mean by our set," went on the vivacious old "Gainsborough," "the aristocrats whose conversation is limited to the weather and scandal, and who are so frightfully dull! Dull! My dear Ross you know how dull they are!"
"Well, upon my word, they are," admitted Courtney. "You are right there. I certainly agree with you."
"I'm sure you do! They have no ideas. Now, artists have ideas,-- they live on ideas and sentiment. Sentiment is such a beautiful thing--so charming! I believe that fierce-looking Gervase is a creature of sentiment--and how delightful that is! Of course, he'll paint the Princess Ziska--he MUST paint her,--no one else could do it so well. By the way, have you been asked to her great party next week?"
"Yes."
"And are you going?"
"Most assuredly."
"So am I. That absurd Chetwynd Lyle woman came to me this evening and asked me if I really thought it would be proper to take her 'girls' there," and Lady Fulkeward laughed shrilly. "Girls indeed! I should say those two long, ugly women could go anywhere with safety. 'Do you consider the Princess a proper woman?' she asked, and I said, 'Certainly, as proper as you are.'"
Courtney laughed outright, and began to think there was some fun in Lady Fulkeward.
"By Jove! Did you tell her that?"
"I should think I did! Oh, I know a thing or two about the Chetwynd Lyles, but I keep my mouth shut till it suits me to open it. I said I was going, and then, of course, she said she would."
"Naturally."
And Courtney gave the answer vaguely, for the waltz was ended, and the Princess Ziska, on the arm of Gervase, was leaving the ball- room.
"She's going," exclaimed Lady Fulkeward. "Dear creature! Excuse me--I must speak to her for a moment."