We were standing, Lady Mickleham and I, at a door which led from the morning room to the terrace at The Towers. I was on a visit to the historic pile (by Vanbrugh--out of the money accumulated by the third Earl--Paymaster to the Forces--temp. Queen Anne).
The morning room is a large room. Archie was somewhere in it.
Lady Mickleham held a jar containing pate de foie gras; from time to time she dug a piece out with a fork and flung the morsel to a big retriever which was sitting on the terrace. The morning was fine, but cloudy. Lady Mickleham wore blue. The dog swallowed the pate with greediness.
"It's so bad for him," sighed she; "but the dear likes it so much.""How human the creatures are," said I.
"Do you know," pursued Lady Mickleham, "that the Dowager says I'm extravagant. She thinks dogs ought not to be fed on pate de foie gras.""Your extravagance," I observed, "is probably due to your having been brought up on a moderate income. I have felt the effect myself.""Of course," said Dolly, "we are hit by the agricultural depression.""The Carters also," I murmured, "are landed gentry.""After all, I don't see much point in economy, do you, Mr. Carter?""Economy," I remarked, putting my hands in my pockets, "is going without something you do want in case you should, some day, want something which you probably won't want.""Isn't that clever?" asked Dolly in an apprehensive tone.
"Oh, dear, no," I answered reassuringly. "Anybody can do that--if they care to try, you know."Dolly tossed a piece of pate to the retriever.
"I have made a discovery lately," I observed.
"What are you two talking about?" called Archie.
"You're not meant to hear," said Dolly, without turning round.
"Yet, if it's a discovery, he ought to hear it.""He's made a good many lately," said Dolly.
She dug out the last bit of pate, flung it to the dog, and handed the empty pot to me.
"Don't be so allegorical," I implored. "Besides, it's really not just to Archie. No doubt the dog is a nice one, but--""How foolish you are this morning! What's the discovery?""An entirely surprising one."
"Oh, but let me hear! It's nothing about Archie, is it?""No, I've told you all Archie's sins."
"Nor Mrs. Hilary? I wish it was Mrs. Hilary!""Shall we walk on the terrace?" I suggested.
"Oh, yes, let's," said Dolly, stepping out, and putting on a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, which she caught up from a chair hard by. "It isn't Mrs. Hilary?" she added, sitting down on a garden seat.
"No," said I, leaning on a sundial which stood by the seat.
"Well, what is it?"
"It is simple," said I, "and serious. It is not, therefore, like you, Lady Mickleham.""It's like Mrs. Hilary," said Dolly.
"No; because it isn't pleasant. By the way, you are jealous of Mrs. Hilary?"Dolly said nothing at all. She took off her hat, roughened her hair a little, and assumed an effective pose. Still, it is a fact (for what it is worth) that she doesn't care much about Mrs. Hilary.
"The discovery," I continued, "is that I'm growing middle-aged.""You are middle-aged," said Dolly, spearing her hat with its long pin.
I was, very naturally, nettled at this.
"So will you be soon," I retorted.
"Not soon," said Dolly.
"Some day," I insisted.
After a pause of about half a minute, Dolly said, "I suppose so.""You will become," I pursued, idly drawing patterns with my finger on the sundial, "wrinkled, rough, fat--and, perhaps, good.""You're very disagreeable today," said Dolly.
She rose and stood by me.
"What do the mottoes mean?" she asked.
There were two; I will not say they contradicted one another, but they looked at life from different points of view.
"Pereunt et imputantur," I read.
"Well, what's that, Mr. Carter?"
"A trite, but offensive, assertion," said I, lighting a cigarette.
"But what does it mean?" she asked, a pucker on her forehead.
"What does it matter?" said I. "Let's try the other.""The other is longer."
