“Let us change the subject,” he said, curtly.
“Well, perhaps you’re right, after all,” said the other, with bland promptitude. “Yes, no doubt, you are right! That sort of woman is better in a picture, eh? Yes, we’ll change the subject! What time do you dine here?”
“Eight,” said Lord Cecil. “I don’t dine at home to-night—at the Towers,” he corrected himself. “I have an engagement.”
“Really? I am so sorry! Can’t you put it off—for my sake? Write and tell the people that you are too good-natured to dine out when an old friend turns up.”
“I’m not going to dine out,” said Lord Cecil, absently.
“No; really? Now, where can you be going?”
“I think the marquis was inquiring for you,” said Lord Neville curtly; “I’ll tell him you are here,” and dropping from his perch, he sauntered into the house.
Spenser Churchill leaned over the balcony and smiled.
“Going to the theatre again!” he murmured, “Yes; I haven’t been to a country theatre for some time; I really think I should like to go and see what it is like!”