"I tell you what, Mr. Carter," said Miss Nellie Phaeton, touching up Rhino with her whip, "love in a cottage is--""Lord forgive us, cinders, ashes, dust," I quoted.
We were spanking round the Park behind Ready and Rhino. Miss Phaeton's horses are very large; her groom is very small, and her courage is indomitable. I am no great hand at driving myself, and I am not always quite comfortable. Moreover, the stricter part of my acquaintance consider, I believe, that Miss Phaeton's attentions to me are somewhat pronounced, and that I ought not to drive with her in the Park.
"You're right," she went on. "What a girl wants is a good house and lots of cash, and some ridin' and a little huntin' and--""A few g's!'" I cried in shuddering entreaty. "If you love me, a g' or two.""Well, I suppose so," said she. "You can't go ridin' without gees, can you?"Apparently one could go driving without any, but I did not pursue the subject.
"It's only in stories that people are in love when they marry,"observed Miss Phaeton reflectively.
"Yes, and then it's generally with somebody else," said I.
"Oh, if you count that!" said she, hitting Ready rather viciously. We bounded forward, and I heard the little groom bumping on the back seat. I am always glad not to be a groom--it's a cup-and-ball sort of life, which must be very wearying.
"Were you ever in love?" she asked, just avoiding a brougham which contained the Duchess of Dexminster. (If, by the way, Ihave to run into anyone, I like it to be a Duchess; you get a much handsomer paragraph.)"Yes," said I.
"Often?"
"Oh, not too often, and I always take great care, you know.""What of?"
"That it shall be quite out of the question, you know. It's not at all difficult. I only have to avoid persons of moderate means.""But aren't you a person of--?"
"Exactly. That's why. So I choose either a pauper--when it's impossible--or an heiress--when it's preposterous. See?""But don't you ever want to get--?" began Miss Phaeton.
"Let's talk about something else," said I.
"I believe you're humbuggin' me," said Miss Phaeton.
"I am offering a veiled apology," said I.
"Stuff!" said she. "You know you told Dolly Foster that I should make an excellent wife for a trainer."Oh, these women! A man had better talk to a phonograph.
"Or anybody else," said I politely.
Miss Phaeton whipped up her horses.
"Look out! There's the mounted policeman," I cried.
"No, he isn't. Are you afraid?" she retorted.
"I'm not fit to die," I pleaded.
"I don't care a pin for your opinion, you know," she continued (Ihad never supposed that she did); "but what did you mean by it?""I never said it."
"Oh!"
"All right--I never did."
"Then Dolly invented it?"
"Of course," said I steadily.
"On your honor?"
"Oh, come, Miss Phaeton!"
"Would--would other people think so?" she asked, with a highly surprising touch of timidity.
"Nobody would," I said. "Only a snarling old wretch would say so, just because he thought it smart."There was a long pause. Then Miss Phaeton asked me abruptly:
"You never met him, did you?"
"No."
A pause ensued. We passed the Duchess again, and scratched the nose of her poodle, which was looking out of the carriage window.
Miss Phaeton flicked Rhino, and the groom behind went plop-plop on the seat.
"He lives in town, you know," remarked Miss Phaeton.
"They mostly do--and write about the country," said I.
"Why shouldn't they?" she asked fiercely.
"My dear Miss Phaeton, by all means let them," said I.
