AN ERROR IN ARCADY.
People who know us both have often expressed a doubt as to whether Charles or myself is the more absent-minded and unobservant. I wish to set the matter at rest once and for all.
We were discussing William’s wedding, which had just taken place, romantically enough, in the very heart of Herts—one of those quaint little villages where no sound seems to disturb the silence of the long summer day but the gentle bleating of horn to horn and the murmur of innumerable tyres. Both of us had been there, and Charles came round to talk to me about it a few evenings afterwards.
“I do hope the poor dear fellow will be happy,” he said, lighting his fifth match and pulling away vigorously at an ugly-looking briar.
“It really goes much better with tobacco in it,” I said, passing him my pouch. “Why on earth shouldn’t William be happy? It seemed a very pretty wedding. Did you notice how the rays of the sun coming through the window lit up the best man’s boots?”
“I daresay, I daresay,” he replied. “As a matter of fact I couldn’t see the church part of it very well: I came late and was behind a pillar at the back.”
“Well, it all went beautifully,” I told him. “Everybody stood up and sat down in the wrong places as usual, and the friends of the bride looked with extreme hauteur at the friends of the bridegroom, and vice versâ. I suppose you went to the reception afterwards. I never saw you at all except for a moment on the platform going back. You must have shaken hands with the happy pair and examined the presents?”
“I went to the house,” said Charles. “I went in a motor-car on a seat that took two men to hold down, and that hit me hard when I tried to stand up. I caught a glimpse of William, but I couldn’t find the room where the presents were set out, so I went through almost at once into the garden, where the feasting was going on. Do tell me about the gifts. Was my little pepper-castor hung on the line?”
“I didn’t notice that,” I said, “but my butter-dish was doing itself proud. It had sneaked up to a magnificent toast-rack with stabling accommodation for about eight pieces, given by somebody with a title. And you ought to have seen the fish-slices. The fish-slices wore gorgeous. I expect William will spend a great part of his married life in slicing fish. It will be a great change from golf-balls. But I think you really ought to have said a few hearty and well-chosen words to the young people.”