"It is a blessed thing to be young, Martin," I observed.

"Yes, sir," said Martin. "It's a fine day, sir."

"But very short," said I. Martin is respectful, and said
nothing--to me, at least. What he said to the coachman, I don't
know.

And then I went up to Dolly.

"Get in and drive round," suggested Dolly.

"I can't," said I. "I have a bad nose."

"What's the matter with your nose?" asked Dolly, smiling.

"The joint is injured," said I, getting into the barouche. And I
added severely, "I suppose I'd better sit with my back to the
horses?"

"Oh, no, you're not my husband," said Dolly. "Sit here;" and she
made room by her, as she continued, "I rather like Mr. George."

"I'm ashamed of you," I observed. "Considering your age--"

"Mr. Carter!"

"Considering, I say, his age, your conduct is scandalous. I
shall never introduce any nice boys to you again."