"You mean old age? Oh, you are not so much to be pitied for that," said
Sir Wilfrid, smiling. "Many people would exchange their youth for
your old age."

"Then the world contains more fools than even I give it credit for!"
said Lady Henry, with energy. "Why should any one exchange with me--a
poor, blind, gouty old creature, with no chick or child to care whether
she lives or dies?"

"Ah, well, that's a misfortune--I won't deny that," said Sir Wilfrid,
kindly. "But I come home after three years. I find your house as
thronged as ever, in the old way. I see half the most distinguished
people in London in your drawing-room. It is sad that you can no longer
receive them as you used to do: but here you sit like a queen, and
people fight for their turn with you."

Lady Henry did not smile. She laid one of her wrinkled hands upon his
arm.

"Is there any one else within hearing?" she said, in a quick undertone.
Sir Wilfrid was touched by the vague helplessness of her gesture, as she
looked round her.

"No one--we are quite alone."

"They are not here for _me_--those people," she said, quivering, with a
motion of her hand towards the large drawing-room.

"My dear friend, what do you mean?"