tiresome rules
in the female wing of Castle Ennui that you're always supposed, more or
less, to be driving. And though you may cheat the authorities by
slipping out of the prison van directly it's turned the corner, and
sending it on ahead, there it remains, a factor that can't be
eliminated. The prison van will relentlessly await my arrival in the old
woman's street."

"That only adds to the sport. Let it wait. When a factor can't be
eliminated, it should be haughtily ignored. Besides, there are higher
considerations. If you leave me, what shall I do with the rest of this
weary day?"

"You can go to your club."

He threw up his hand. "Merciful lady! What sin have I committed? I never
go to my club, except when I've been wicked, as a penance. If you will
permit me to employ a metaphor--oh, but a tried and trusty
metaphor--when one ship on the sea meets another in distress, it stops
and comforts it, and forgets all about its previous engagements and the
prison van and everything. Shall we cross to the north, and see whether
the Serpentine is in its place? Or would you prefer to inspect the
eastern front of the Palace? Or may I offer you a penny chair?"

"I think a penny chair would be the maddest of the three dissipations,"
she decided.

And they sat down in penny chairs.

"It's rather jolly here, isn't it?" said he. "The trees, with their
black trunks, and their leaves, and things. Have you ever seen such
sumptuous foliage? And the greensward, and the shadows, and the
sunlight, and the atmosphere, and the mistiness--isn't it like
pearl-dust and gold-dust floating in the air? It's all got up to imitate
the background of a Watteau. We must do our best to be frivolous and
ribald, and supply a proper foreground. How big and fleecy and white the
clouds are. Do you think they're made of cotton-wood? And what do you
suppose they paint the sky with? There never was such a brilliant,
breath-taking blue. It's much too nice to be natural. And they've
sprinkled the whole place with scent, haven't they? You notice how fresh
and sweet it smells. If only one could get rid of the sparrows--the
cynical little beasts! hear how they're chortling--and the people, and
the nursemaids and children. I have never been able to understand why
they admit the public to the parks."

"Go on," she encouraged him. "You're succeeding admirably in your effort
to be ribald."

"But that last remark wasn't ribald in the least--it was desperately