"Oh, Frank! How rude and unkind!" But she was apparently not offended, as she blushed and smiled while she moved a little away. Then she said, looking at the cards—
"Will the party be awful, do you think?"
"No, it won't be bad. Except for me, of course. To see you talking to other people. Not that I really care, because I know you have to. And besides, you won't, will you?"
"I promise I won't! I'll just be a hostess, and talk to old ladies, or stray girls, or perhaps just a few dull old married men."
"I approve of that programme. But—of course I have no right to advise, and I may be entirely wrong—supposing you were to leave out the old married men? You will have to talk to all the clever young men, I am afraid. Don't go to supper with F. G. Rivers. That's all I ask. I couldn't bear it."
"F. G. Rivers! Of course not! Felicity will do all that sort of thing. She has a talent for celebrities—like papa. But why on earth mustn't I go to supper with just F. G. Rivers?"
"Oh, I don't know. You can if you like. I don't care," said Woodville jealously.
"I thought he was a wonderfully clever novelist, tremendously successful and celebrated!"
"Yes, I know. That's what I meant," Woodville said.
"Aren't his books rather weird and uncanny ... and romantic,—all about local colour, and awfully cynical?"