"It really seems rather odd," said I, "that we should meet alone at
the cross-roads. And it seems so romantic too. At five o'clock, you
said? I always think that is such a sentimental hour."
A bewildered look now crept into the Vicar's wife's face.
"Are you joking or serious?" she said. "Perhaps I have not made myself
clear. I am simply asking if you could kindly meet the Countess of
Aire in place of the Vicar."
"And I say I shall be charmed," I repeated; "and I think the prospect
is most alluring, and I shall endeavour to do the occasion all honour.
I shall put on my best mustard-coloured suit and my new green Tyrolean
hat--the one with the feather in it."
"I don't see why you should, simply to meet the Countess of Aire."
"But think of the romance of the meeting," I urged. "Just fancy! It
is to be at the cross-roads, perhaps above the nameless grave of a
suicide. There I shall be waiting at five o'clock, all dressed up in
my mustard suit and tremulous with excitement. And at last there will
dash up to the trysting-place some splendid equipage, a silver-plated
car, or the family coach with prancing and foaming horses. And
there, at the cross-roads, we shall have our little discussion; no
speech-making, all quite informal. Oh, I wish it could have been
moonlight!"
The Vicar's wife began to look quite scared.
"Are you going mad?" she asked.
"I think so," I said. "Do you know," I went on wildly, saying just
anything by way of preserving my sanity, "I remember that once, when
I was quite little, I half promised I would marry this highly exalted
person; we were playing together as boy and girl in a garden."
"But the Countess of Aire," cried the Vicar's wife, "never was a
girl."
"And never was a boy either," I cried.
"The Countess of Aire," screamed the Vicar's wife--yes, she was fairly
screaming by now--"is a he."
"Now that _is_ absurd," I said.
It was the Vicar, coming round the corner in his usual hurry, as if
every day were a Sunday, who saved the situation by bumping into us
both.
"The Countess of Aire," shrieked his poor wife, frantically clutching
him by the coat-tails, "is a man, isn't he?"
"Certainly," said the Vicar. "It is a terrible age, but thank Heaven
for this," he added piously, "we have yet to learn of a female County
Surveyor."
* * * * *
"NURSERY GOVERNESS WANTED. Three children, 7, 6, and 2
ears."--_Daily Paper._
Plenty of stuff to box.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LIMIT--AND BEYOND.