"It's a burning' shame, Dolly," said Miss Phaeton. "I wouldn't
do it if I were him."
"Oh, yes, you would, dear," said Dolly. "The pots looked
atrocious on that side."
I took a long sip from my glass, and observed in a meditative
tone:
"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 interrest 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.
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