"Go on up-stairs, will you?" said Guy, making a tremendous effort to appear hospitable. "I'll dig out the whisky."
He went along and shouted in Miss Peasey's ear what was wanted. She looked up as if it were Apollyon himself come to affront her holy abstraction.
"I think there's some left from that bottle we got in August.... I shall lay it on the mat," she told him.
Guy nodded encouragingly and went up-stairs to join his guests.
"Well, I suppose you'll be soon having a missus in charge here," said Brydone, heartily.
Willsher hummed "Bachelor Boys" as a contributory echo of the question.
"Oh no; we're not getting married at once, you know," Guy explained.
"Well, you're quite right," Brydone declared, heartily. "After all, being close at hand like this, you're not much likely to draw a blank in the lottery."
"Marriage is a lottery, isn't it?" said Guy, with polite sarcasm.
"Rather," sighed Willsher. "Terrific!"