"I think her mother does." "Not exactly. She only wishes them to stand on separate hobs for three months. They will hear each other simmer. My own belief is that they will be worked up to a sort of frenzy, compared to which those two parties in Dante ... you know which I mean?..." "Paolo and Francesca?" Mr. Pellew thought to himself how well enformed Miss Dickenson was. He said aloud:--"Yes, them. Paolo and Francesca would be quite lukewarm--sort of negus!--compared to our young friends. Correspondence is the doose. Not so bad in this case, p'r'aps, because he can't read her letters himself.... I don't know, though--that might make it worse.... Couldn't say!" And he seemed to find that cigar very good, and, indeed, to be enjoying himself thoroughly. Had Aunt Constance any sub-intent in her next remark? Had it any hinterland of discussion of the ethics of Love, provocative of practical application to the lives of old maids and old bachelors--if the one, then the other, in this case--strolling in a leisurely way through bracken and beechmast, fancy-free, no doubt? If she had, and her companion suspected it, he was not seriously alarmed, this time. But then he was off to London in a couple of hours. Her remark was:--"You seem to be quite an authority on the subject, Mr. Pellew." "No--you don't mean that? Does me a lot of credit, though! Guessin', I am, all through. No experience--honour bright!" "You don't expect me to believe that, Mr. Pellew?" "Needn't believe it, unless you like, Miss Dickenson. But it's true, for all that. Never was in love in my life!" "You must have found life very dull, Mr. Pellew. How a man can contrive to exist without.... Isn't that wheels?" It didn't matter whether it was or not, but the lady's speech had stumbled into a pitfall--she was exploring a district full of them--and she thought the wheels might rescue her. But the gentleman was not going to let her off, though he was ready to suppose the wheels were the carriage coming back. "It won't catch us up for ever so long, you'll see! Such a quiet evening as this, one hears miles off...." He interrupted his own speech by a variation of tone, repeating the pitfall words:--"'Contrive to exist without'"--and then supplied as sequel:--"'womankind somehow or other.' That's what you mean to say, isn't it?" "Yes." No qualification!--more pitfalls, perhaps. "Only I never said anything of the sort! Never meant it, anyhow. What I meant was that I had never caught the disorder like my blind friend. He went off at score like Orlando in 'Winter's Tale.'" "In 'As You Like It.'" "I meant 'As You Like It.' I suppose it was because he happened to come across thingummybob--Rosalind." "It always is." "P'r'aps I never came across Rosalind. Anyhow, I give you my honour I never had any experience to make me an authority on the subject. I expect you are a much better one than I." "Why?" Miss Dickenson's share of the conversation had become very dry and monosyllabic.