'Ah, I see. Well, now we've found our way here--broken the ice and that sort of thing--we must often come and dine with them, mustn't we, Mrs Ottley? Can't we come again next week?' 'Very sweet of you to ask us, I'm sure.' 'Not at all; very jolly of us to turn up. The boot is on the other leg, or whatever the phrase is. By the way, I'm sure you know everything, Mrs Ottley, tell me, did people ever wear only one boot at a time, do you think, or how did this expression originate?' 'I wonder.' Something in his suave manner of taking everything for granted seemed to make them know each other almost too quickly, and gave her an odd sort of self-consciousness. She turned to Captain Willis on her other side. 'I say,' he said querulously, 'isn't this a bit off? We've got the same coloured ribbons and you haven't said a word to me yet! Rather rot, isn't it, what?' 'Oh, haven't I? I will now.' Captain Willis lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said: 'Do you know, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at that; what?' 'That's a dark saying,' said Edith. 'Have a burnt almond,' said Captain Willis inconsequently, as though it would help her to understand. 'Yes, Mrs Ottley, that's what I always say.... But people won't, you know--they won't--and there it is.' He seemed resigned. 'Good chap, Mitchell, isn't he? Musical chairs, I believe--that's what we're to play this evening; or bridge, whichever we like. I shall go in for bridge. I'm not musical.' 'And which shall you do?' asked Aylmer of Edith. He had evidently been listening. 'Neither.' 'We'll talk then, shall we? I can't play bridge either.... Mrs Ottley--which is your husband? I didn't notice when you came in.' 'Over there, opposite; the left-hand corner.' 'Good-looking chap with the light moustache--next to Myra Mooney?' 'That's it,' she said. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. I'm glad he's got Miss Mooney. He's lucky.' 'He is indeed,' said Aylmer. 'She's a wonderful-looking woman--like an old photograph, or someone in a book,' said Edith. 'Do you care for books?' 'Oh, yes, rather. I've just been discovering Bourget. Fancy, I didn't know about him! I've just read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' 'Oh yes. Rather a pompous chap, isn't he? But you could do worse than read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' 'I _have_ done worse. I've been reading Rudyard Kipling for the last time.' 'Really! Don't you like him? Why?' 'I feel all the time, somehow, as if he were calling me by my Christian name without an introduction, or as if he wanted me to exchange hats with him,' she said. 'He's so fearfully familiar with his readers.'