or, most charming of all, an inferential lie."
"How was the subject started?" Innisbrook asked.
"Melville's fault," said Gale.
"Egad, no; you abused Ulysses."
"I simply made a moral remark. Is that abuse?"
"Undoubtedly," said the Earl. "A great abuse."
"I could not quite see the conncection, but there was a dog in it," Lady Melville remarked.
"Not a woman?"
"Certainly not," said Gale. "We were discussing constancy."
"You yourself said 'only women are constant,'" Lady Melville exclaimed, reproachfully.
"Merely an example of the inferential lie," said Gale, calmly. "But, speaking seriously, constancy in a man would be pitiable; in a woman, terrifying. Consider the case of constancy in love. The ignorant applaud it. Why? What we call constancy is really deficiency. The man, or the woman, possesses a heart that is capable of only one emotion; obviously, it is an inefficient organ."
"A little while ago you were attacking the poor Dean of Orwell for alleged inconstancy," Lucas remarked.
"I carefully avoid consistency. Continuity is an abomination; only the helpless or stupid adopt it. These poor politicians, for instance, are bound down, tied to its observance, by public opinion." He affected to shudder.
"They wear their fetters lightly," said the Earl.
"I am glad you have withdrawn from politics, Innisbrook; the turmoil and rowdyism have ruined many men who might have been superb dandies or voluptuaries."
"I am happy, then," laughed the Earl. "I still have my opportunity."
Gale looked at him sadly. "I hope you are not going to waste your life in driveling with happiness. Choose the higher part, Innisbrook."
"Happiness!” the Earl murmured. "Ah, there is little choice about it."
"By the way," said Gale, "how do we get back?"
"We drive from here to Bellingham, and go to town by special train. I have arranged for carriages."
“How far away is Bellingham?"
"About twenty miles."
"Good heavens! But why not go from here direct? We could have a special from Derbiton as easily as from Bellingham, surely!" cried Sir Francis.
"There were difficulties," said Innisbrook. "Bellingham is a junction."
It was quite true, there were difficulties—difficulties that he had fore- seen and provided; difficulties that could not be surmounted by the man who had created them. For Innisbrook wanted this long drive through the shadows, and had looked forward to it as the culmination of any pleasures which the day should bring. He had dreams of a music that should make the outer stillness very beautiful; of a comforting darkness, as their horses' hoofs struck sharply on the country roads and lanes. Or perhaps, if the night were clear, and the moon shone bravely, and the blue stars gleamed, a strange contentment might not fail, as they swept on steadily and watched the quivering lamps keep step across the firmament.
The Earl took Gale's arm. "The carriages will hold four," he said. "We will go together. You will not refuse to come with me and amuse me? I could not stand one of those." From the spot to which he pointed came the sound of laughter and loquacity.
"All right, old man," said Gale. "Be comforted. I will come."
"It is the last day," said the Earl, inconsequently.
"Yes," said Gale. He understood.
XI
There were three carriages. Lady Landor, Innisbrook, his sister and Gale occupied the first.
They started in the midst of a scene of strange brilliancy. The moon had
