were prowling round. Soames took steps and came on what looked to
him like a lamp-post bent by collision with a motor omnibus. It
was advanced some three paces from the wall, and was described in
his catalogue as "Jupiter." He examined it with curiosity, having
recently turned some of his attention to sculpture. 'If that's
Jupiter,' he thought, 'I wonder what Juno's like.' And suddenly he
saw her, opposite. She appeared to him like nothing so much as a
pump with two handles, lightly clad in snow. He was still gazing
at her, when two of the prowlers halted on his left. "Epatant!" he
heard one say.

"Jargon!" growled Soames to himself.

The other's boyish voice replied:

"Missed it, old bean; he's pulling your leg. When Jove and Juno
created he them, he was saying: 'I'll see how much these fools
will swallow.' And they've lapped up the lot."

"You young duffer! Vospovitch is an innovator. Don't you see that
he's brought satire into sculpture? The future of plastic art, of
music, painting, and even architecture, has set in satiric. It was
bound to. People are tired--the bottom's tumbled out of
sentiment."

"Well, I'm quite equal to taking a little interest in beauty. I
was through the War. You've dropped your handkerchief, sir."

Soames saw a handkerchief held out in front of him. He took it
with some natural suspicion, and approached it to his nose. It had