“Ah, well,” said Glen, “we shall see; but look here, most chivalrous of youths, and greatest among lovers of romance—”
“Oh, I say, how I do hate it when you take up that horrible chaffing tone!”
“Chaff, my dear boy? No, no, this is sound commonsense! I do not say that under certain circumstances I might not have a brougham in waiting, and say to a lady ‘Here is the licence, let us be driven straight to the church and made one;’ but believe me, my dear Dick, all those romantic, elopement-loving days are gone by. We have grown too matter-of-fact now.”
“Hang matter-of-fact! I mean to let nothing stand in my way, so I tell you! But, I say, have you heard?”
“About your sisters? Yes.”
“Hang it, no!” cried Dick angrily; “let that rest. It’s bad enough meeting Black Malpas at the mess-table, and being kept back by etiquette from hurling knives. I mean about the dinner.”
“What dinner?”
“Dymcoxes’. And we’re not asked. Our dinner’s cold shoulder.”
“A dinner-party?”
“Yes; and those two old buffers are to be there.”