"I can't help what they say, aunt. One's duty—"
"They tell my weight," said Titania. "How did they know?"
"They must have guessed it," said Penelope.
"I don't look it," pleaded the duchess, now suddenly plaintive.
"No, no, dear auntie, you don't," said poor Penelope. "Oh, it's cruel of them."
"Help me, then," said Titania. "Get married at once in a cathedral, and all this will stop. I'll ask the dear archbishop to officiate, Penelope. Oh, my darling!"
But Penelope became Pentelican marble again; she froze into a severe goddess, and she saw Titania weep.
"It's scandalous! Oh, and they have a list of them all," said Titania.
Indeed, the New York Dustman had the "horde" set out in a row like the entries for the Derby. They said the betting was on Rufus Q. Plant, of course. They gave a short and succulent biography of them all. They headed the list "The Lady Penelope Handicap." They used some slang about "weight for age."
"Great heavens!" said Titania, "all town is ringing with it. If this is the result of looking on marriage as one's private business, give me publicity!"