"What is it?" he asked without curiosity.
"Why, a dinner, of course! What else could it be at this time of day? It's Mr. Summer's affair, and I promised to get you."
"Mr. Summer is the latest, I suppose?"
She came back to him and took his coat by the two lapels, smiling up at him.
"That's mean, Frank! You know I never went back on you. But you as much as gave me notice, as if I was a servant-girl. Gay's a nice boy, and I like him—that's all. I'm educating him. Of course, he doesn't know what's what, yet, but he's rather fun. Do come—we're going to have dinner at the Poodle Dog, and the Orpheum afterward perhaps—Heaven knows where it'll end. There's an awfully swell New York girl coming, a Miss Cavendish, and she's simply dying to meet you. You'll like her. She's a sport—you can't feaze her—and she's pretty enough to suit even you. You can have her all to yourself. Come on!"
"I'm sorry, but I can't go to-night," he said wearily.
"Oh, Frank, please! Not if I beg you?" She looked at him languishingly, and tried for his hand.
"Really, no! I'm sorry, but I'm too busy."
Mrs. Page pouted and turned slowly toward the door.
"I suppose you're afraid Gay'll bore you. I'll manage him. I've got him trained. Or, if you say so—we'll go alone? Just you and me. I can get rid of them, some way."