“Hell—I mean home,” answered Charlie.
Calder beat his stick against his leg.
“I can’t stay here either,” he said moodily.
Charlie stretched out his hand again.
“Come with me,” said he.
“Eh? what?”
“Come with me; we’ll forget her together.”
Calder looked at him.
“Well, you are a good chap. Dashed if I don’t. Yes, I will. We’ll enjoy ourselves like thunder. But I say, Merceron, I—I ought to write to her, oughtn’t I?”
“I am just going to write myself.”