“No; but I mean it seriously. In the first place, to convince you that I am right; then again for the humor of the thing. My third reason will sound so ridiculous that I can hardly put it into words. One of my favorite theories is that events happen to us, and opportunities come in our way, just when we are ripe for them. Sometimes a premonition warns us beforehand. Often enough we disregard it, and miss the opportunity. There’s more than you think in the old Jewish notion of being ‘warned in a dream.’ My grandmother was a Scotchwoman, you know, Lady Kate Douglas, and great at second sight. Before I could speak plainly, she had communicated some of her beliefs to me.”
“You’re just like the rest of these very clever fellows,” said his friend, indulgently. “When you’ve left off believing in everything else, you’re bound to have faith in some superstitious fad. Well, and what have you been dreaming about now?”
No one had ever yet succeeded in laughing Lord Carthew out of any idea, however erratic.
“I started this tour,” he said, quietly, “in search of adventures, you know, and so far we haven’t had any. But you must remember I am also in search of a wife, and I have a rooted conviction that if I find one to my liking it won’t be in the beaten track, but that I shall have to go out of my way to seek her out.”
“My dear Claud,” Hilary began, in a tone of some alarm, “does this mean that your radicalism is going to land you in the arms of a milkmaid? A rustic countess, with red elbows and a strong dialect?”
“I should never dream of marrying any woman without good breeding and refinement,” the other returned in quiet, decided tones. “But if she be a lady, it will be immaterial to me whether her parents are received at Court or not. Only she must be something unlike the girls I am used to meeting. My sisters, and my sisters’ friends, and girls like the Braithwaites, I cannot tell you how they bore me. I don’t quite know what I do want, but most certainly I don’t want them.”
“Granted. But what has all this to do with your mad proposal to exchange names with me? Of course, I shouldn’t consent. But what possible connection is there between your ideal ladylove, and your last crazy notion?”
“More than you think. If we should meet her—don’t laugh, anything is possible—if we should, as I say, during the next fortnight, happen to light upon just the woman I am waiting for, I am eccentric enough to wish to stand before her on my own poor merits, with my plain face, and insignificant appearance, my bad temper, and all the rest of it—just Mr. Pritchard, going out to Canada to make his fortune in the autumn. Then I should endeavor to gain her interest, and in time her affection.”
“What an extraordinary chap you are for talking nonsense seriously! One would think you expected your ideal young woman to drop from the clouds at the present moment.”
“Perhaps I do. Did I ever tell you of my visit to Kyro, the fashionable fate-reader, in Bond Street, last Christmas?”