As he did not answer, she continued: "It would be such--such rot wasting
your life over a thing you haven't a chance of getting."

"Why?" said Septimus. "Isn't that the history of the best lives?"

This philosophic plane was too high for Emmy, who had her pleasant being in
a less rarified atmosphere. "To want, to get, to enjoy," was the guiding
motto of her existence. What was the use of wanting unless you got, and
what was the use of getting unless you enjoyed? She came to the conclusion
that Septimus was only sentimentally in love with Zora, and she regarded
his tepid passion as a matter of no importance. At the same time her easy
discovery delighted her. It invested Septimus with a fresh air of
comicality.

"You're just the sort of man to write poetry about her. Don't you?"

"Oh, no!" said Septimus.

"Then what do you do?"

"I play the bassoon," said he.

Emmy clapped her hands with joy, thereby scaring a hen that was straying on
the common.

"Another accomplishment? Why didn't you tell us? I'm sure Zora doesn't know
of it. Where did you learn?"

"Wiggleswick taught me," said he. "He was once in a band."