The gentlemen did not absent themselves long, and with their appearance from the dining-room the reception of the evening began.  Crowds of people arrived and crammed up the stairs, filling every corridor and corner, and Alwyn, growing tired of the various introductions and shaking of hands to which he was submitted, managed presently to slip away into a conservatory adjoining the great drawing-room,—­a cool, softly lighted place full of flowering azaleas and rare palms.  Here he sat for a while among the red and white blossoms, listening to the incessant hum of voices, and wondering what enjoyment human beings could find in thus herding together en masse, and chattering all at once as though life depended on chatter, when the rustling of a woman’s dress disturbed his brief solitude.  He rose directly, as he saw his fair hostess approaching him.

“Ah, you have fled away from us, Mr. Alwyn!” she said with a slight smile—­“I do not wonder at it.  These receptions are the bane of one’s social existence.”

“Then why do you give them?”—­asked Alwyn, half laughingly.

“Why?  Oh, because it is the fashion, I suppose!” she answered languidly, leaning against a marble column that supported the towering frondage of a tropical fern, and toying with her fan,—­ “And I, like others, am a slave to fashion.  I have escaped for one moment, but I must go back directly.  Mr. Alwyn ...”  She hesitated,—­then came straight up to him, and laid her hand upon his arm—­“I want to thank you!”

“To thank me?” he repeated in surprised accents.

“Yes!”—­she said steadily—­“To thank you for what you have said to-night.  We live in a dreary age, when no one has much faith or hope, and still less charity,—­death is set before us as the final end of all,—­and life as lived by most, people is not only not worth living, but utterly contemptible!  Your clearly expressed opinions have made me think it is possible to do better,”—­her lips quivered a little, and her breath came and went quickly,—­ “and I shall begin to try and find out how this ‘better’ can be consummated!  Pray do not think me foolish—­”

“I think you foolish!” and with gravest courtesy Alwyn raised her hand, and touched it gently with his lips, then as gently released it.  His action was full of grace,—­it implied reverence, trust, honor,—­and the Duchess looked at him with soft, wet eyes in which a smile still lingered.

“If there were more men like you,”—­she said suddenly—­“what a difference it would make to us women!  We should be proud to share the burdens of life with those on whose absolute integrity and strength we could rely,—­but, in these days, we do not rely, so much as we despise,—­we cannot love, so much as we condemn!  You are a Poet,—­and for you the world takes ideal colors,—­for you perchance the very heavens have opened;—­but remember that the millions, who, in the present era, are ground down under the heels of the grimmest necessity, have no such glimpses