“Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine with Lydia—or, better still, ask her over here to share your dinner with you.”
He was scowling.
“Where are you going?”
“Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, “we thought it would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico's and see a play afterward.”
“Just—you and father?”
“We two—no more.”
“How cunning,” he sneered.
“Will you ask Lydia to dine with you?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you will go out somewhere?”