“Well, no one objected to your money, I suppose?” interrupted Nellie. “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. Archie followed her, saying as he passed that he hoped I shouldn’t find it warm. I went on shifting the flower pots. They were very heavy. I broke two, but I went on. Presently Dolly put up her parasol and came out from the shade to watch me. She stood there for a moment or two. Then, she said: “Well, do you think you’d like it, Mr. Carter?” “Wait till I’ve finished,” said I, waving my hand. Another ten minutes saw the end of my task. Panting and hot I sought the shade, and flung myself onto my deck chair again. I also lit a cigarette. “I think they looked better on the other side, after all,” said Dolly meditatively. “Of course you do,” said I urbanely. “You needn’t tell me that” “Perhaps you’d like to move them back,” she suggested. “No,” said I. “I’ve done enough to create the impression.” “And how did you like it?” “It was,” said I, “in its way a pleasant enough illusion.” And I shrugged my shoulders, and blew a ring of smoke. To my very considerable gratification, Dolly’s tone manifested some annoyance as she asked: “Why do you say, ‘in its way’?” “Because, in spite of the momentary pleasure I gained from feeling myself a married man, I could not banish the idea that we should not permanently suit one another.” “Oh, you thought that?” said Dolly, smiling again. “I must confess it,” said I. “The fault, I know, would be mine.” “I’m sure of that,” said Dolly. “But the fact is that I can’t exist in too high altitudes. The rarefaction of the moral atmosphere--” “Please don’t use all those long words.”