THE OTHER LADY
“By the merest chance,” I observed meditatively, “I attended a reception last night.”
“I went to three,” said Lady Mickleham, selecting a sardine sandwich with care.
“I might not have gone,” I mused, “I might easily not have gone.”
“I can’t see what difference it would have made if you hadn’t,” said she.
“I thought three times about going. It’s a curious world.”
“What happened? You may smoke, you know.”
“I fell in love,” said I, lighting a cigarette.
Lady Mickleham placed her feet on the fender—it was a chilly afternoon—and turned her face to me, shielding it from the fire with her handkerchief.