"What is the French for a pair of snow-shoes?" asked Myra.
"I pointed to them in French. The undersized Robert I got at a bargain. The man who hired it last week broke his leg before his fortnight was up, and so there was a reduction of several centimes."
"I've been busy too," I said. "I've been watching Myra unpack, and telling her where not to put my things."
"I packed jolly well—except for the accident."
"An accident to the boot-oil," I explained. "If I get down to my last three shirts you will notice it."
We stopped eating for a moment in order to drink Dahlia's health. It was Dahlia's health which had sent us there.
"Who's your friend, Samuel?" said Archie, as Simpson caught somebody's eye at another table and nodded.
"A fellow I met in the lift," said Simpson casually.
"Samuel, beware of elevator acquaintances," said Myra in her most solemn manner.
"He's rather a good chap. He was at Peterhouse with a friend of mine. He was telling me quite a good story about a 'wine' my friend gave there once, when——"