“I expect I’m awfully thick,” said Dennis.
“You are, my dear: you’re thick and fat with that enormous dinner you ate. Did you like your champagne?”
“Rather. I should think I did. May I have some to-morrow?”
“You must ask your mother.”
Dennis laughed.
“I’d much sooner ask you,” he said.
“You’re a wine-bibber. You’ll get gout and delirium tremens, and your mother will say it’s my fault.... Well, what about this next act? Are you going to stop or not?”
“I think I won’t,” said Dennis. “And will you come and say good night?”
“No: you’ll be asleep.”
“I shall keep awake, if you’re coming.”