“There but for the grace of woman, goes Samuel Travers Carter.”
Dolly’s lazy lids half lifted. Miss Phaeton mumbled (Her mouth was full
of twine):
“What DO you mean?”
“Nemo omnibus horis sapit,” said I apologetically.
“I don’t know what that means either.”
“Nemo--everybody,” I translated, “sapit--has been in
love--omnibus--once--horis--at least.”
“Oh, and you mean she wouldn’t have you?” asked Nellie, with blunt
directness.
“Not quite that,” said I. “They--”
“THEY?” murmured Dolly, with half-lifted lids.
“THEY,” I pursued, “regretfully recognized my impossibility. Hence I am
not carrying pots across a broad terrace under a hot sun.”
“Why did they think you impossible?” asked Miss Phaeton, who takes much
interest in this sort of question.
“A variety of reasons: for one, I was too clever, for another, too
stupid; for others, too good--or too bad; too serious--or too frivolous;
too poor or--”
“Well, no one objected to your money, I suppose?” interrupted Nellie.
“Pardon me. I was about to say ‘or not rich enough.’”
“But that’s the same thing.”
“The antithesis is certainly imperfect,” I admitted.
“Mr. Gay,” said Nellie, introducing the name with some timidity, “you
know who I mean?--the poet--once said to me that man was essentially
imperfect until he was married.”
“It is true,” I agreed. “And woman until she is dead.”
“I don’t think he meant it quite in that sense,” said Nellie, rather
puzzled.
“I don’t think he meant it in any sense,” murmured Dolly, a little
unkindly.
We might have gone on talking in this way for ever so long had not
Archie at this point dropped a large flower pot and smashed it to bits.
He stood looking at the bits for a moment, and then came towards us and
sank into a chair.
“I’m off!” he announced.
“And half are on one side, and half on the other,” said Dolly,
regretfully.
A sudden impulse seized me. I got up, put on my straw hat, took off my
coat, walked out into the sun, and began to move flower pots across the
broad terrace. I heard a laugh from Archie, a little cry from Dolly,
and from Nellie Phaeton, “Goodness, what’s he doing that for?” I was not
turned from my purpose. The luncheon bell rang. Miss Phaeton, whip and
twine in hand, walked into the house. Archie followed her, saying as he
passed that he hoped I shouldn’t find it warm. I went on shifting the
flower pots. They were very heavy. I broke two, but I went on. Presently
Dolly put up her parasol and came out from the shade to watch me. She
stood there for a moment or two. Then, she said:
“Well, do you think you’d like it, Mr. Carter?”
“Wait till I’ve finished,” said I, waving my hand.
Another ten minutes saw the end of my task. Panting and hot I sought
the shade, and flung myself onto my deck chair again. I also lit a
cigarette.
“I think they looked better on the other side, after all,” said Dolly
meditatively.
“Of course you do,” said I urbanely. “You needn’t tell me that”
“Perhaps you’d like to move them back,” she suggested.
“No,” said I. “I’ve done enough to create the impression.”
“And how did you like it?”
“It was,” said I, “in its way a pleasant enough illusion.” And I
shrugged my shoulders, and blew a ring of smoke.
To my very considerable gratification, Dolly’s tone manifested some
annoyance as she asked:
“Why do you say, ‘in its way’?”
“Because, in spite of the momentary pleasure I gained from feeling
myself a married man, I could not banish the idea that we should not
permanently suit one another.”
“Oh, you thought that?” said Dolly, smiling again.
“I must confess it,” said I. “The fault, I know, would be mine.”
“I’m sure of that,” said Dolly.
“But the fact is that I can’t exist in too high altitudes. The
rarefaction of the moral atmosphere--”
“Please don’t use all those long words.”
“Well, then, to put it plainly,” said I, with a pleasant smile, “I felt
all the time that Mrs. Hilary would be too good for me.”
It is not very often that it falls to my humble lot to startle Lady
Mickleham out of her composure. But at this point she sat up quite
straight in her chair; her cheek flushed, and her eyelids ceased to
droop in indolent insouciance.
“Mrs. Hilary!” she said. “What has Mrs. Hilary--?
“I really thought you understood,” said I, “the object of my
experiment.”
Dolly glanced at me. I believe that my expression was absolutely
innocent--and I am, of course sure that hers expressed mere surprise.
“I thought,” she said, after a pause, “that you were thinking of Nellie
Phaeton.”
“Oh, I see,” cried I smiling. “A natural mistake, to be sure.”
“She thought so too,” pursued Dolly, biting her lip.
“Did she though?”
“And I’m sure she’d be quite annoyed if she thought you were thinking of
Mrs. Hilary.”
“As a matter of fact,” I observed, “she didn’t understand what I was
doing at all.”
Dolly leant back. The relics of a frown still dwelt on her brow;
presently, however, she began to swing her hat on her forefinger, and
she threw a look at me. I immediately looked up toward the branches
above my head.
“We might as well go in to lunch,” said Dolly.
“By all means,” I acquiesced, with alacrity.
We went out into the sunshine, and came where the pots were. Suddenly
Dolly said:
“Go back and sit down again, Mr. Carter.”
“I want my lunch,” I ventured to observe.
“Do as I tell you,” said Dolly, stamping her foot; whereat, much
intimidated, I went back, and stretched myself once more on the deck
chair.
Dolly approached a flower pot. She stooped down, exerting her strength,
lifted it, and carried it, not without effort, across the terrace.
Again she did the like. I sat smoking and watching. She lifted a third
pot, but dropped it half way. Then, dusting her hands against one
another, she came back slowly into the shade and sat down. I made no
remark.
Dolly glanced at me.
“Well?” she said.
“Woman--woman--woman!” said I sadly.
“Must I carry some more?” asked Dolly, in a humble, yet protesting,
tone.
“Mrs. Hilary,” I began, “is an exceedingly attractive--”
Dolly rose with a sigh.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“More pots,” said Dolly, standing opposite me. “I must go on, you see.”
“Till when, Lady Mickleham?”
“Till you tell the truth,” said Dolly, and she suddenly burst into a
little laugh.
“Woman--woman--woman!” said I again. “Let’s go in to lunch.”
“I’m going to carry the pots,” said Dolly. “It’s awfully hot, Mr.
Carter--and look at my poor hands!”
She held them out to me.
“Lunch!” said I.
“Pots!” said Dolly, with infinite firmness.
The window of the dining room opened and Archie put his head out.
“Come along, you two,” he called. “Everything’s getting cold.”
Dolly turned an appealing glance on me.
“How obstinate you are!” she said. “You know perfectly well--”