inordinate passion for pleasure which is the secret of remaining
young.

Suddenly she looked eagerly round the room, and said, in her clear
contralto voice, 'Where is my cheiromantist?'

'Your what, Gladys?' exclaimed the Duchess, giving an involuntary
start.

'My cheiromantist, Duchess; I can't live without him at present.'

'Dear Gladys! you are always so original,' murmured the Duchess,
trying to remember what a cheiromantist really was, and hoping it
was not the same as a cheiropodist.

'He comes to see my hand twice a week regularly,' continued Lady
Windermere, 'and is most interesting about it.'

'Good heavens!' said the Duchess to herself, 'he is a sort of
cheiropodist after all. How very dreadful. I hope he is a
foreigner at any rate. It wouldn't be quite so bad then.'

'I must certainly introduce him to you.'

'Introduce him!' cried the Duchess; 'you don't mean to say he is
here?' and she began looking about for a small tortoise-shell fan
and a very tattered lace shawl, so as to be ready to go at a
moment's notice.

'Of course he is here; I would not dream of giving a party without