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Oh, this mystery is too exquisitely delicious! Who knows, perhaps you might make a convert of me? The first of our secrets is that we are all things to all men, until we are quite sure of the sympathy of the listener; then we venture a step further. Mrs Allmash. How wise that is! and how unlike the system adopted by Christians! You may be sure of my most entire sympathy. Ali Seyyid.
Mrs Allmash. Now, I should say, Mr Rollestone, on the contrary, that it was just a subject you ought to write a book about. You would have so much to tell, all your personal experiments, you know; now do. Fussle. Take my advice, Mr Rollestone, and don't.
I don't understand much about these matters myself, but I take it he is a sort of evolved codger. Mrs Allmash. Oh, how awfully interesting! Dear Mr Drygull, do tell us some of the extraordinary things the Rishi can do. Drygull.
Mr Germsell. Mrs Allmash asked me last night whether my thoughts had been directed to the topic which is uppermost just now in so many minds in regard to the religion of the future, and I ventured to tell her that it would be found to be contained in the generalised expediency of the past. Mr Fussle.
The result is, that she went to Islington House on Tuesday, and came to me on Thursday, and created a perfect furor on both occasions; so now she is fairly started. Mrs Allmash. How wonderfully clever and fortunate you are, dear! What is her name? Lady Fritterly. Mrs Gloring. Mrs Allmash. Oh yes; everybody was talking about her at the Duchess's last night.
The afternoon tea apparatus in one corner of the room, and Lady Fritterly on a couch in another. The Hon. Mrs Allmash is announced. Lady Fritterly. How too kind, dear, of you to come, and so early, too! I've got such a lot of interesting people coming, and we are going to discuss the religion of the future. Mrs Allmash. How quite delightful!
I am not going to be entrapped into getting it from any unknowable source; the love of humanity, whether it be humanity as existing, or when absorbed by death into the general mass, is perpetually generating itself. Mrs Allmash. Then it must produce itself from what was there before; therefore it must be the same love, which keeps on going round and round. Lord Fondleton.
Mrs Allmash. Your new beauty! Lady Fritterly. Yes; if you could only have dined with me the other night, you would have met her. I had such a perfect little dinner. Just think! A poet, an actor, a journalist, a painter, a wit, and a new beauty. I'll tell you how I found her.
You must have met, in the course of your travels, that more enlightened and initiated class of Buddhists, with whom I sympathise, who are quite indifferent to considerations of this nature. Rollestone. And who were too much occupied with their subjective prospects in Nirvana, to be affected by the needs of terrestrial humanity. Drygull. Quite so. Mrs Allmash.
No; it seems to me more like tic-tic-tic. Mrs Allmash. How too tiresome! I can't hear anything. I suppose it is on account of the rumble of the carriages. Mrs Gloring. No; what? Lord Fondleton. The beating of my own heart. Can't you guess for whom? Mrs Gloring. No. Perhaps the Rishi makes it beat. Lord Fondleton. Dear Mrs Gloring, you are the Rishi for whom Mrs Gloring. Hush! Lady Fritterly.
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