"What is that you are saying about friendships?" cried Lord Bobby from the other end of the table. The place of honour, to which his rank entitled him, was a grievous burden to this irrepressible youth. "I can give you no end of information on the subject, as Platonic friendship is the line in which I excel."
"I do not believe in Platonic friendships," said Lady Farley, "the woman is all right; but the man always cares too much or too little for the arrangement to be a success."
"You are wrong," cried Lord Bobby, "I have scores in good working order just now, so I speak with authority on the subject. They are all most successful, and I start a new one every other week."
"Which I suppose you call a neo-Platonic friendship," suggested the artist.
"Don't be so horribly clever," replied Lord Bobby, "it gives me the headache, and will undermine your constitution in time."
"My experience of Platonic friendships is that they generally end in the woman's losing her head," remarked Madderley.
"Mine is that they invariably end in the man's losing his temper," added Isabel.
"I notice that, as a rule, the man is either bored to death by the whole thing," said Lady Farley, "or else overdraws his account on the bank of friendship, and is surprised when, in consequence, the bank will not cash his cheques."
"That latter case is more often true of the woman than of the man, I think," replied Madderley.
Lady Farley shook her head. "No; men are much more exacting than women in their friendships—that is to say, if they really care. It seems to me that men either care a great deal about things, or not at all; while women have a regular thermometer of degrees of affection and interest."