The old gentleman, still red in the face, had a temporary internal
struggle; then his good manners triumphed, and with a gesture of
obeisance and a vague utterance of, "If Lady Beaumont . . . a lady,
of course," he followed the young man back into the salon. He had
scarcely been deposited there half a minute before another peal of
laughter told that he had (in all probability) been scored off
again.

"Of course, I can excuse dear old Cholmondeliegh," said Beaumont,
as he helped us off with our coats. "He has not the modern mind."

"What is the modern mind?" asked Grant.

"Oh, it's enlightened, you know, and progressive--and faces the
facts of life seriously." At this moment another roar of laughter
came from within.

"I only ask," said Basil, "because of the last two friends of yours
who had the modern mind; one thought it wrong to eat fishes and the
other thought it right to eat men. I beg your pardon--this way, if
I remember right."

"Do you know," said Lord Beaumont, with a sort of feverish
entertainment, as he trotted after us towards the interior, "I can
never quite make out which side you are on. Sometimes you seem so
liberal and sometimes so reactionary. Are you a modern, Basil?"

"No," said Basil, loudly and cheerfully, as he entered the crowded
drawing-room.