"Doing anything on Saturday afternoon, old sport?" she asked confidentially.
"Yes, I'm going out to tea."
"Oh, what a pity! Can't you put it off?"
"I'm afraid not. Why?"
"Well, we've got a ticket to spare for the matinée, and I was going to ask you to come with us."
"The Merchant of Venice?" gasped Lesbia.
Calla nodded.
"Can't you wangle it?" she urged.
"I'd give everything I possess. But I promised faithfully to go to tea. I shall give frightful offence if I scoot off to the theatre instead. In fact, it can't be done."
"N-n-o, I suppose not," admitted Calla regretfully. "I'm sorry though."