“Never mind. To-morrow will do just as well,” interrupted the inexorable Dempsey. “Come over and take your mutton-chop with me at five, and you shall have the story into the bargain.”
“I regret that I cannot accept so very tempting an invitation,” said Darcy, struggling between his sense of pride and a feeling of astonishment at his companion's coolness.
“Not come to dinner!” exclaimed Dempsey, as if the thing was scarcely credible. “Oh, very well, only remember”—and here he put an unusual gravity into his words—“only remember the onus is now on you.”
The Knight burst into a hearty laugh at this subtle retort, and, willing as he ever was to go with the humor of the moment, replied,—
“I am ready to accept it, sir, and beg that you will dine with me.”
“When and where?” said Dempsey.
“To-morrow, at that cottage yonder: five is your hour, I believe—we shall say five.”
“Booked!” exclaimed Dempsey, with an air of triumph; while he muttered, with a scarcely subdued voice, “Knew I'd do it!—never failed in my life!”
“Till then, Mr. Dempsey,” said Darcy, removing his hat courteously, as he bowed to him,—“till then—”
“Your most obedient,” replied Dempsey, returning the salute; and so they parted.