'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 recognised 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 interest 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.
'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?—
