proud stoicism which was admirable.

The Land League was under discussion as we entered, and Parnell's attitude
to it. Lady Wilde regarded him as the predestined saviour of her country.
"Parnell," she said with a strong accent on the first syllable, "is the man
of destiny; he will strike off the fetters and free Ireland, and throne her
as Queen among the nations."

A murmur of applause came from a thin birdlike woman standing opposite, who
floated towards us clad in a sage-green gown, which sheathed her like an
umbrella case; had she had any figure the dress would have been indecent.

"How like 'Speranza'!" she cooed, "dear Lady Wilde!" I noticed that her glance
went towards Willie, who was standing on the other side of his mother, talking
to a tall, handsome girl. Willie's friend seemed amused at the lyrical outburst
of the green spinster, for smiling a little she questioned him:

"'Speranza' is Lady Wilde?" she asked with a slight American accent.

Lady Wilde informed the company with all the impressiveness she had at command
that she did not expect Oscar that afternoon; "he is so busy with his new poems,
you know; they say there has been no such sensation since Byron," she added;
"already everyone is talking of them."

"Indeed, yes," sighed the green lily, "do you remember, dear Speranza, what he
said about 'The Sphinx,' that he read to us. He told us the written verse was
quite different from what the printed poem would be just as the sculptor's clay
model differs from the marble. Subtle, wasn't it?"

"Perfectly true, too!" cried a man, with a falsetto voice, moving into the