ful than the marriage of Lady Jane Thome and Lord Eric Carruthers Ethelbert Temple? Mon dieu! It is—"
"Rubbish!" exclaimed Mr. Trotter, suddenly looking down at his foot, which was employed in the laudable but unnecessary act of removing a tiny shaving from a crack in the floor. "Besides," he went on an instant later, acknowledging an interval of mental consideration, "she wouldn't have me."
"It is my time to say 'rubbish,'" said the old Frenchman. "Why wouldn't she have you?"
"Because she doesn't care for me in that way, if you must know," blurted out the young man.
"Has she said so?"
"Of course not. She wouldn't be likely to volunteer the information, would she?" with fine irony.
"Then how do you know she doesn't care for you in that way?"
"Well, I—I just simply know it, that's all."
"I see. You are the smartest man of all time if you know a woman's heart without probing into it, or her mind without tricking it. She permitted you to carry her up the steps, didn't she?"
"She had to," said Trotter forcibly. "That doesn't prove anything. And what's more, she objected to being carried."
"Um! What did she say?"
"Said she didn't in the least mind getting her feet wet. She'd have her boots off as soon as she got into the house."
"Is that all?"
"She said she was awfully heavy, and— Oh, there
