"If you're going to be rude," said Reginald, "I shall dine
with you to-morrow night as well. The chief vice of the
Academy," he continued, "is its nomenclature. Why, for
instance, should an obvious trout-stream with a palpable
rabbit sitting in the foreground be called 'an evening dream
of unbeclouded peace,' or something of that sort?"

"You think," said the Other, "that a name should economise
description rather than stimulate imagination?"

"Properly chosen, it should do both. There is my lady kitten
at home, for instance; I've called it Derry."

"Suggests nothing to my imagination but protracted sieges and
religious animosities. Of course, I don't know your kitten"
-

"Oh, you're silly. It's a sweet name, and it answers to it--
when it wants to. Then, if there are any unseemly noises in
the night, they can be explained succinctly: Derry and
Toms."

"You might almost charge for the advertisement. But as
applied to pictures, don't you think your system would be too
subtle, say, for the Country Cousins?"

"Every reformation must have its victims. You can't expect
the fatted calf to share the enthusiasm of the angels over
the prodigal's return. Another darling weakness of the
Academy is that none of its luminaries must 'arrive' in a