XVIII.
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 make 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.
'Men of your age,' she remarked, 'have no business to be thinking of such things.'
'I was not thinking of it,' said I. 'I was thinking of going home. Then I was introduced to her.'
'And you stayed a little, I suppose?'
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