“Yes,—­as you see them,”—­and she turned and spread out her hands towards the crowded lawn, which was behind them.  “What are such friends worth?  What would they do for me?”

“I do not know that the Duke would do much,” said Phineas laughing.

Madame Goesler laughed also.  “The Duke is not so bad,” she said.  “The Duke would do as much as any one else.  I won’t have the Duke abused.”

“He may be your particular friend, for what I know,” said Phineas.

“Ah;—­no.  I have no particular friend.  And were I to wish to choose one, I should think the Duke a little above me.”

“Oh, yes;—­and too stiff, and too old, and too pompous, and too cold, and too make-believe, and too gingerbread.”

“Mr. Finn!”

“The Duke is all buckram, you know.”

“Then why do you come to his house?”

“To see you, Madame Goesler.”

“Is that true, Mr. Finn?”

“Yes;—­it is true in its way.  One goes about to meet those whom one likes, not always for the pleasure of the host’s society.  I hope I am not wrong because I go to houses at which I like neither the host nor the hostess.”  Phineas as he said this was thinking of Lady Baldock, to whom of late he had been exceedingly civil,—­but he certainly did not like Lady Baldock.

“I think you have been too hard upon the Duke of Omnium.  Do you know him well?”

“Personally? certainly not.  Do you?  Does anybody?”

“I think he is a gracious gentleman,” said Madame Goesler, “and though I cannot boast of knowing him well, I do not like to hear him called buckram.  I do not think he is buckram.  It is not very easy for a man in his position to live so as to please all people.  He has to maintain the prestige of the highest aristocracy in Europe.”

“Look at his nephew, who will be the next Duke, and who works as hard as any man in the country.  Will he not maintain it better?  What good did the present man ever do?”

“You believe only in motion, Mr. Finn;—­and not at all in quiescence.  An express train at full speed is grander to you than a mountain with heaps of snow.  I own that to me there is something glorious in the dignity of a man too high to do anything,—­if only he knows how to carry that dignity with a proper grace.  I think that there should be breasts made to carry stars.”

“Stars which they have never earned,” said Phineas.

“Ah;—­well; we will not fight about it.  Go and earn your star, and I will say that it becomes you better than any glitter on the coat of the Duke of Omnium.”  This she said with an earnestness which he could not pretend not to notice or not to understand.  “I too may be able to see that the express train is really greater than the mountain.”

“Though, for your own life, you would prefer to sit and gaze upon the snowy peaks?”

“No;—­that is not so.  For myself, I would prefer to be of use somewhere,—­to some one, if it were possible.  I strive sometimes.”