Still more dreamily I found myself following this imperious voice intoa room where the Earl, his daughter, and Arthur, were seated."So you're come at last!" said Lady Muriel, in a tone of playful reproach.

"I was delayed," I stammered. Though what it was that had delayed me Ishould have been puzzled to explain! Luckily no questions were asked.

The carriage was ordered round, the hamper, containing our contributionto the Picnic, was duly stowed away, and we set forth.

There was no need for me to maintain the conversation. Lady Muriel andArthur were evidently on those most delightful of terms, where one hasno need to check thought after thought, as it rises to the lips, withthe fear 'this will not be appreciated--this will give' offence--this will sound too serious--this will sound flippant': like very oldfriends, in fullest sympathy, their talk rippled on.

"Why shouldn't we desert the Picnic and go in some other direction?"she suddenly suggested. "A party of four is surely self-sufficing?And as for food, our hamper--"

"Why shouldn't we? What a genuine lady's argument!" laughed Arthur."A lady never knows on which side the onus probandi--the burden ofproving--lies!"

"Do men always know?" she asked with a pretty assumption of meek docility.

"With one exception--the only one I can think of Dr. Watts, who hasasked the senseless question

'Why should I deprive my neighbourOf his goods against his will?'

Fancy that as an argument for Honesty! His position seems to be 'I'monly honest because I see no reason to steal.' And the thief's answeris of course complete and crushing. 'I deprive my neighbour of hisgoods because I want them myself. And I do it against his will becausethere's no chance of getting him to consent to it!'"

"I can give you one other exception," I said: "an argument I heard onlyto-day---and not by a lady. 'Why shouldn't I walk on my own forehead?'"

"What a curious subject for speculation!" said Lady Muriel, turning to me,with eyes brimming over with laughter. "May we know who propoundedthe question? And did he walk on his own forehead?"

"I ca'n't remember who it was that said it!" I faltered. "Nor where Iheard it!"

"Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the Picnic!" said Lady Muriel."It's a far more interesting question than 'Isn't this a picturesque ruin?'Aren't those autumn-tints lovely?' I shall have to answer those twoquestions ten times, at least, this afternoon!"

"That's one of the miseries of Society!" said Arthur. "Why ca'n'tpeople let one enjoy the beauties of Nature without having to say soevery minute? Why should Life be one long Catechism?"

"It's just as bad at a picture-gallery," the Earl remarked."I went to the R.A. last May, with a conceited young artist: and he didtorment me! I wouldn't have minded his criticizing the pictures himself:but I had to agree with him--or else to argue the point, which would havebeen worse!"

"It was depreciatory criticism, of course?" said Arthur.

"I don't see the 'of course' at all."

"Why, did you ever know a conceited man dare to praise a picture?The one thing he dreads (next to not being noticed) is to be provedfallible! If you once praise a picture, your character forinfallibility hangs by a thread. Suppose it's a figure-picture, andyou venture to say 'draws well.' Somebody measures it, and finds one ofthe proportions an eighth of an inch wrong. You are disposed of as acritic! 'Did you say he draws well?'your friends enquire sarcastically, while you hang your head and blush.No. The only safe course, if any one says 'draws well,' is to shrugyour shoulders. 'Draws well?' you repeat thoughtfully. 'Draws well?Humph!' That's the way to become a great critic!"

Thus airily chatting, after a pleasant drive through a few miles ofbeautiful scenery, we reached the rendezvous--a ruined castle--wherethe rest of the picnic-party were already assembled. We spent an houror two in sauntering about the ruins: gathering at last, by commonconsent, into a few random groups, seated on the side of a mound,which commanded a good view of the old castle and its surroundings.

The momentary silence, that ensued, was promptly taken possession of or,more correctly, taken into custody--by a Voice; a voice so smooth,so monotonous, so sonorous, that one felt, with a shudder, that anyother conversation was precluded, and that, unless some desperateremedy were adopted, we were fated to listen to a Lecture, of which noman could foresee the end!

The speaker was a broadly-built man, whose large, flat, pale face wasbounded on the North by a fringe of hair, on the East and West by afringe of whisker, and on the South by a fringe of beard--the wholeconstituting a uniform halo of stubbly whitey-brown bristles. Hisfeatures were so entirely destitute of expression that I could not helpsaying to myself--helplessly, as if in the clutches of a night-mare--"they are only penciled in: no final touches as yet!" And he had a wayof ending every sentence with a sudden smile, which spread like a rippleover that vast blank surface, and was gone in a moment, leaving behindit such absolute solemnity that I felt impelled to murmur"it was not he: it was somebody else that smiled!"

"Do you observe?" (such was the phrase with which the wretch began eachsentence) "Do you observe the way in which that broken arch, at thevery top of the ruin, stands out against the clear sky? It is placedexactly right: and there is exactly enough of it. A little more, or alittle less, and all would be utterly spoiled!"

[Image...A lecture, on art]

"Oh gifted architect!" murmured Arthur, inaudibly to all butLady Muriel and myself. "Foreseeing the exact effect his work wouldhave, when in ruins, centuries after his death!"

"And do you observe, where those trees slope down the hill, (indicatingthem with a sweep of the hand, and with all the patronising air of theman who has himself arranged the landscape), "how the mists rising fromthe river fill up exactly those intervals where we need indistinctness,for artistic effect? Here, in the foreground, a few clear touches arenot amiss: but a back-ground without mist, you know! It is simplybarbarous! Yes, we need indistinctness!"

The orator looked so pointedly at me as he uttered these words, that Ifelt bound to reply, by murmuring something to the effect that I hardlyfelt the need myself--and that I enjoyed looking at a thing, better,when I could see it.

"Quite so!" the great man shar