“Next week,” he answered. “One goes from habit, I suppose. No waters upon the earth or under it will ever cure me!”
“Liver?” she asked.
“Heart!” he declared.
“You shouldn’t smoke so many cigarettes.”
“Harmless,” he assured her. “I don’t inhale.”
“I think,” she said, “that I shall come over next month.”
“Do!” he begged. “I’ll answer for the bridge. May I come and lunch to-morrow?”
She turned to a red morocco book by her side.
“A bishop and Lady Sarah,” she said. “Several more parsons, and I think the duchess.”
“I’ll face ’em,” he declared.