Chapter 11 - Page 2

trying as
she frequently blundered upon a sound conclusion whilst he was
reasoning his way to a hollow one with his utmost subtlety and
seriousness. On such occasions his disgust did not trouble her in
the least; she triumphed in it. She had concluded that marriage
was a greater folly, and men greater fools, than she had
supposed; but such beliefs rather lightened her sense of
responsibility than disappointed her, and, as she had plenty of
money, plenty of servants, plenty of visitors, and plenty of
exercise on horseback, of which she was immoderately fond, her
time passed pleasantly enough. Comfort seemed to her the natural
order of life; trouble always surprised her. Her husband's
friends, who mistrusted every future hour, and found matter for
bitter reflection in many past ones, were to her only examples of
the power of sedentary habits and excessive reading to make men
tripped and dull.

One fine May morning, as she cantered along the avenue at Brandon
Beeches on a powerful bay horse, the gates at the end opened and
a young man sped through them on a bicycle. He was of slight
frame, with fine dark eyes and delicate nostrils. When he
recognized Lady Brandon he waved his cap, and when they met he
sprang from his inanimate steed, at which the bay horse shied.

"Don't, you silly beast!" she cried, whacking the animal with the
butt of her whip. "Though it's natural enough, goodness knows!
How d'ye do? The idea of anyone rich enough to afford a horse
riding on a wheel like that!"

"But I am not rich enough to afford a horse," he said,
approaching her to pat the bay, having placed the bicycle against
a tree. "Besides, I am afraid of horses, not being accustomed to
them; and I know nothing about feeding them. My steed needs no
food. He doesn't bite nor kick. He never goes lame, nor sickens,
nor dies, nor needs a groom, nor--"

"That's all bosh," said Lady Brandon impetuously. "It stumbles,
and gives you the most awful tosses, and it goes lame by its
treadles and thingamejigs coming off, and it wears out, and is
twice as much trouble to keep clean and scrape the mud off as a
horse, and all sorts of things. I think the most ridiculous sight
in the world is a man on a bicycle, working away with his feet as
hard as he possibly can, and believing that his horse is carrying
him instead of, as anyone can see, he carrying the horse. You
needn't tell me that it isn't easier to walk in the ordinary way
than to drag a great dead iron thing along with you. It's not
good sense."

"Nevertheless I can carry it a hundred miles further in a day
than I can carry myself alone. Such are the marvels of machinery.
But I know that we cut a very poor figure beside you and that