"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.
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