“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 frivolous; too poor or—”