A handsome victoria stood at the curb.
"I shall be pleased to hear your story," said she.
It occurred to me that the tale might not be to her liking.

So I said: "But it is one of those disagreeable stories; one where all should end nicely, but doesn't; one which ends, leaving the hero, the heroine, and the reader dissatisfied with the world in general, and the author (who is Fate) in particular." I knew that she was puzzled.

She wasn't quite sure that I was not referring to the old affair.
"If the story is one I never heard before," suspiciously, "I should like to hear it." "And does it not occur to you," throwing back the robes so that she might step into the victoria, "that fate has a special grudge against me?
Once was not enough, but it must be twice." "And she does not love you?
Are you quite sure?
You poor fellow!" She squeezed my hand kindly.

"Shall I be candid with you ?" with the faintest flicker of coquetry in her smile.
"As in the old days," said I, glancing over my shoulder to see now near the others were.

A groom is never to be considered.