oured to convey to you an idea of the feelings which . . . which . .

'Not at all,' said Miranda, untruthfully. Pray sit down, Mr. Rondelet, and tell me what you mean.'

'Let me,' he said, sitting down at one end of the garden-seat, Miranda occupying the other; let me put the case from our own-I mean, the Higher Modern-point of view. Our school have arrived at this theory, that it is useless and even mischievous to attempt to promote culture. Especially is it mischievous when such efforts lead to personally interesting oneself with the lower classes. They are led, among other things, to believe that they are not entirely deserving of scorn. Therefore, we have decided on a return to the principles of the Renaissance.'

'Really,' said Miranda, looking at him with a little amusement in her eyes. This infinite condescension at the same time irritated her.

6

Our plan of life is-separation. We leave the vulgar herd entirely to themselves; and we live alone, among our own set, on our own level.'

'Will not that be very dull? Should you admit the Monks and Sisters of Thelema ?'

Paul Rondelet hesitated, and dropped his glass; then he replaced it with a sigh. I fear not. Perhaps one or two. But, Miss Dalmeny, the higher life cannot be dull. It has too many resources. It is great, though perhaps the vulgar cannot know its greatness; it is memorable and precious, though it is spent apart from mankind.

We

care nothing about our reputation among men. We belong to the lower levels in no way-the poor may help the poor, we shall not help them at all, or vex our souls about them. We are no longer English, or French, or Russian, or German; we are no longer Catholics or Anglicans, or anything; we propose to divest ourselves of any, even the slightest, interest in their religions, their politics, or their aims; we are alone among ourselves, the Higher Humanity.'

'And

'Oh!' said Miranda again. what are we, then? I always thought, in my conceit, that I belonged by birth and education to the Higher Humanity.'

Paul Rondelet shook his head sadly. 'Alas! no,' he said; 'I would that we could acknowledge your right to rank with Us. It is not a matter of birth, but one of culture. The Higher Humanity consists entirely of the best intellects trained in the best school. The men can only, therefore, be Oxford men, and presumably of Lothian.'

And the women-oh! Mr. Rondelet I should so much like to see the women of the Higher Humanity.' Was she laughing at him, or was this genuine enthusiasm ?

6

'Nay,' he replied kindly. What we look for in women is the Higher Receptivity-it really was exasperating that Paul Rondelet wanted everything of the Higher order—' The Higher Receptivity, coupled with real and natural taste, hatred for debasement, especially in Art, a love for Form, an eye for the Beautiful, and a positive ardour to rise above prejudice. One of us was recently engaged, for instance, to a lady who seemed in every way adapted for his wife . . .' 'Was he a leader in the Advanced School?'

He was a- 2- in fact, one of the leaders.' Paul Rondelet spoke as if there was in reality one leader only -himself. After training her carefully in the Separation Doctrine, my friend had the unhappiness of actually seeing her come out of a cottage where she had been personally mixing with women of the lowest grade, and giving them things to eat.'

'How very dreadful!'

'Yes. He confided the case to me. He said that he had passed over in silence her practice of going to church,

because old habits linger. But this was too much for his patience. She had to be told in delicate but firm language that the engagement was broken off. The sequel showed that we were right.'

'What was that?'

'Instead of sorrowing over her failure to reach the Higher Level, this unhappy girl said that she was already tired of it, and shortly afterwards actually married a Clerical Fellow!'

'What a shocking thing!' said Miranda, deeply interested in this

anecdote.

Paul Rondelet had been speaking with great solemnity, because all this was part of the Higher Level, and meant to prepare Miranda.

Now he began to speak more solemnly still.

'You have seen us, Miss Dalmeny,' he went on. 'At least you have seen me-one of our School. It has been my privilege to make your acquaintance in the Abbey of Thelema-a place, so to speak, of half culture. There are, that is, the elements of the Higher Culture, prevented from full development by such members as Caledon and others

'My very dear friends,' said Miranda.

'Pardon me. I am speaking only from the-from my own point of view. No doubt, most worthy people. However, I have fancied, Miss Dalmeny, that in you I have seen the possibility of arriving at the Higher Level' Miranda thought that this man was really the greatest of all Prigs she had ever seen. 'In fact,' he added, with a quiet smile, one is never mistaken in these matters, and I am sure you are worthy of such elevation.'

'Really, Mr. Rondelet, I ought to be very much gratified.'

'Not at all; we learn discernment in the Higher Criticism. I saw those

qualities in you from the beginning. But I have reflected, and, Miss Dalmeny, if you will accept me as your guide to the regions of the Higher Thought, we will together tread those levels, and make of life a grand, harmonious poem, of which not one word shall be intelligible to the Common Herd. Its very metre, its very rhythm, shall be unintelligible to them.'

'If you please, Mr. Rondelet, leave the language of allegory, and tell me, in that of the Common Herd, what it is you ask me to do.'

He turned red. After this magnificent overture, leading to a short aria of extraordinary novelty, to be asked to clothe his meaning in plain English -it was humiliating.

I mean,' he explained, after a gulp of dissatisfaction, and dropping his eye-glass once-'I mean, Miss Dalmeny, will you marry me?'

'Oh- -h!' Miranda did not blush, or tremble, or gasp, or faint, or manifest any single sign of surprise or confusion. It was as if she had been asked to go for a drive. 'You ask me if I will marry you. That is a very important question to put, and I must have a little time to answer it. No-do not say any more at present. We shall meet in the evening as if this talk had not been held. Goodmorning, Mr. Rondelet.'

She rose in her queenly fashion, and walked across the lawn to the house, leaving him confused and uncertain.

Had she appreciated him? Did she realise what he brought to her? He reflected with satisfaction that his method of approaching the subject had at least the merit of novelty. Certainly, very few women had ever been invited to contemplate matrimony in such a manner.

(To be continued.)