an international reputation. Oh,
remember, you music-fed ascetic, many,
aye, very many, regard the transition
from Tschaikowsky to terrapin, from
Beethoven to burgundy with hearts
aflame with anticipatory joy--and Mrs.
Llewellyn's dining-room was crowded.

Miss Wallace and Diotti had
wandered into the conservatory.

``A desire for happiness is our common
heritage,'' he was saying in his
richly melodious voice.

``But to define what constitutes
happiness is very difficult,'' she replied.

``Not necessarily,'' he went on; ``if
the motive is clearly within our grasp,
the attainment is possible.''

``For example?'' she asked.

``The miser is happy when he hoards
his gold; the philanthropist when he
distributes his. The attainment is identical,
but the motives are antipodal.''

``Then one possessing sufficient