Unfortunately it was Sunday; therefore the gardeners could not be ordered to shift the long row of flower pots from the side of the terrace next the house, where Dolly had ordered them to be put, to the side remote from the house, where Dolly now wished them to stand. Yet Dolly could not think of living with the pots where they were till Monday. It would kill her, she said. So Archie left the cool shade of the great trees, where Dolly sat doing nothing, and Nellie Phaeton sat splicing¹ the gig whip, and I lay in a deck chair with something iced beside me. Outside the sun was broiling² hot and poor Archie mopped his brow at every weary journey across the broad terrace.  
“It’s a burning’ shame, Dolly,” said Miss Phaeton. “I wouldn’t do it if I were him.”
 
“Oh, yes, you would, dear,” said Dolly. “The pots looked atrocious on that side.”
 
I took a long sip³ from my glass, and observed in a meditative⁵ tone:
 
“There but for the grace of woman, goes Samuel Travers Carter.”
 
Dolly’s lazy lids half lifted. Miss Phaeton mumbled⁶ (Her mouth was full of twine⁷):
 
“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 recognized 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 frivolous⁸; 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 antithesis⁹ 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 essentially¹⁰ 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 luncheon¹¹ 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 meditatively¹².
 
“Of course you do,” said I urbanely¹³. “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 shrugged¹⁴ my shoulders, and blew a ring of smoke.
 
To my very considerable gratification, Dolly’s tone manifested some annoyance¹⁵ as she asked:
 
“Why do you say, ‘in its way’?”
 
“Because, in spite of the momentary¹⁶ pleasure I gained from feeling myself a married man, I could not banish¹⁷ the idea that we should not permanently¹⁸ s............