Chesney sank his head deeper in his shoulders, settled his body deeper in the sofa.
"That's what I've changed my mind about," he said. "I'm not going."
"But...."
"I'm not going."
"It's a dinner, Cecil.... It will be very rude."
"I'm not going."
"Shall I say you're ill?"
"You're not going, either."
He grinned it at her, gloating on the expression of her face. She went pale again, then crimson. Her eyebrows flickered passionately.
"I am going," she said, in a still voice.