I sat on, admiring the simple elements which constitute the
happiness of the young. Alas! With advancing years, Wrong loses
half its flavor! To be improper ceases, by itself, to satisfy.
Immersed in these reflections, I failed to notice that a barouche
had stopped opposite to me; and suddenly I found a footman
addressing me.
"Beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Her ladyship wishes to speak
to you."
"It is a blessed thing to be young, Martin," I observed.
"Yes, sir," said Martin. "It's a fine day, sir."
"But very short," said I. Martin is respectful, and said
nothing--to me, at least. What he said to the coachman, I don't
know.
And then I went up to Dolly.
"Get in and drive round," suggested Dolly.
"I can't," said I. "I have a bad nose."
"What's the matter with your nose?" asked Dolly, smiling.
"The joint is injured," said I, getting into the barouche. And I
added severely, "I suppose I'd better sit with my back to the
horses?"
"Oh, no, you're not my husband," said Dolly. "Sit here;" and she
made room by her, as she continued, "I rather like Mr. George."
"I'm ashamed of you," I observed. "Considering your age--"
"Mr. Carter!"
"Considering, I say, his age, your conduct is scandalous.
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