she fell still further short of his
hopes. She looked upon his favorite art of painting as a pastime for
amateur and a branch of the house-furnishing trade for professional
artists. When he was discussing it among his friends, she would
offer her opinion with a presumption which was the more trying as she
frequently blundered upon a sound conclusion whilst he was reasoning his
way to a hollow one with his utmost subtlety and seriousness. On such
occasions his disgust did not trouble her in the least; she triumphed in
it. She had concluded that marriage was a greater folly, and men greater
fools, than she had supposed; but such beliefs rather lightened her
sense of responsibility than disappointed her, and, as she had plenty of
money, plenty of servants, plenty of visitors, and plenty of exercise
on horseback, of which she was immoderately fond, her time passed
pleasantly enough. Comfort seemed to her the natural order of life;
trouble always surprised her. Her husband's friends, who mistrusted
every future hour, and found matter for bitter reflection in many past
ones, were to her only examples of the power of sedentary habits and
excessive reading to make men tripped and dull.

One fine May morning, as she cantered along the avenue at Brandon
Beeches on a powerful bay horse, the gates at the end opened and a young
man sped through them on a bicycle. He was of slight frame, with fine
dark eyes and delicate nostrils. When he recognized Lady Brandon he
waved his cap, and when they met he sprang from his inanimate steed, at
which the bay horse shied.

"Don't, you silly beast!" she cried, whacking the animal with the butt
of her whip. "Though it's natural enough, goodness knows! How d'ye do?
The idea of anyone rich enough to afford a horse riding on a wheel like
that!"

"But I am not rich enough to afford a horse," he said, approaching her
to pat the bay, having placed the bicycle against a tree. "Besides, I am
afraid of horses, not being accustomed to them; and I know nothing about
feeding them. My steed needs no food. He doesn't bite nor kick. He never
goes lame, nor sickens, nor dies, nor needs a groom, nor--"

"That's all bosh," said Lady Brandon impetuously. "It stumbles, and
gives you the most awful tosses, and it goes lame by its treadles and
thingamejigs coming off, and it wears out, and is twice as much trouble
to keep clean and scrape the mud off as a horse, and all sorts of
things. I think the most ridiculous