I nobody? Was the author of "Ariel in
Mayfair" nobody?

'I reminded myself how glad Braxton would be if he knew of my
faint-heartedness. I thought of Braxton sitting, at this moment, in his
room in Clifford's Inn and glowering with envy of his hated rival in the
3.30. And after all, how enviable I was! My spirits rose. I would acquit
myself well....

'I much admired the scene at the little railway station where we
alighted. It was like a fete by Lancret. I knew from the talk of my
fellow-passengers that some people had been going down by an earlier
train, and that others were coming by a later. But the 3.30 had brought
a full score of us. Us! That was the final touch of beauty.

'Outside there were two broughams, a landau, dog-carts, a phaeton, a
wagonette, I know not what. But almost everybody, it seemed, was going
to bicycle. Lady Rodfitten said SHE was going to bicycle. Year after
year, I had seen that famous Countess riding or driving in the Park.
I had been told at fourth hand that she had a masculine intellect and
could make and unmake Ministries. She was nearly sixty now, a trifle
dyed and stout and weather-beaten, but still tremendously handsome, and
hard as nails. One would not have said she had grown older, but merely
that she belonged now to a rather later period of the Roman Empire. I
had never dreamed of a time when one roof would shelter Lady Rodfitten
and me. Somehow, she struck my imagination more than any of these
others--more than Count Deym, more than Mr. Balfour, more than the
lovely Lady Thisbe Crowborough.

'I might have had a ducal vehicle all to myself, and should have liked
that; but it seemed more correct that I should use my bicycle. On the
other hand, I didn't want to ride with all these people--a stranger in
their midst. I lingered around the luggage till they were off, and then
followed at a long distance.

'The sun had gone behind clouds. But I rode slowly, so as to be sure not
to arrive hot. I passed, not without a thrill, through the massive
open gates into the Duke's park. A massive man with a cockade saluted
me--hearteningly--from the door of the lodge. The park seemed endless.
I came, at length, to a long straight avenue of elms that were almost
blatantly immemorial. At the end of it was--well, I felt like a gnat
going to stay in a public building.

'If there had been turnstiles--IN and OUT--and a shilling to pay,
I should have felt easier as I passed into that hall--that
Pal