"Quite so!" the great man sharply took me up. "From your point of
view, that is correctly put. But for anyone who has a soul for Art,
such a view is preposterous. Nature is one thing. Art is another.
Nature shows us the world as it is. But Art--as a Latin author tells
us--Art, you know the words have escaped my memory "Ars est celare
Naturam," Arthur interposed with a delightful promptitude.
"Quite so!" the orator replied with an air of relief. "I thank you!
Ars est celare Naturam but that isn't it." And, for a few peaceful
moments, the orator brooded, frowningly, over the quotation. The
welcome opportunity was seized, and another voice struck into the
silence.
"What a lovely old ruin it is!" cried a young lady in spectacles,
the very embodiment of the March of Mind, looking at Lady Muriel, as the
proper recipient of all really original remarks. "And don't you admire
those autumn-tints on the trees? I do, intensely!"
Lady Muriel shot a meaning glance at me; but replied with admirable
gravity. "Oh yes indeed, indeed! So true!"
"And isn't strange, said the young lady, passing with startling
suddenness from Sentiment to Science, "that the mere impact of certain
coloured rays upon the Retina should give us such exquisite pleasure?"
"You have studied Physiology, then?" a certain young Doctor courteously
enquired.
"Oh, yes! Isn't it a sweet Science?"
Arthur slightly smiled. "It seems a paradox, does it not," he went on,
"that the image formed on the Retina should be inverted?"
"It is puzzling," she candidly admitted.
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