“Bai Jove, now, that’s too bad—’tis indeed, bai Jove! There are some of you people get so hardened by contact with the world, that, bai Jove! you’ve no more faith in a fler’s sincerity than if there wasn’t such a thing to be found anywhere.”
“O! but,” simpered Mrs Marter, “do you think we can’t tell when you are sincere?”
“Bai Jove, no!” said Max earnestly, and with a wonderful deal of truth. “But look here: I’ve got tickets for Her Majesty’s to-night—three, you know—for La Figlia. You’ll go, of course, Marter?”
“Go to an opera!” said Mr Marter, with a shake of the head. “I never go to operas—I only go to sleep.”
“O, bai Jove! that’s too bad!” cried Max. “You’ve never been with us anywhere yet; and I do think you ought to go for once in a way.”
“No, I sha’n’t go!” said Mr Marter; “and besides, I have promised to dine out. Take Miss Bedford.”
“Bother Miss Bedford! Bai Jove, one can’t stir without your governess. I say, Marter, do go!”
“Can’t, I tell you; and, besides, I shouldn’t go, if I had no engagement,” said Mr Marter testily. “You three can go if you like.”
Max Bray seemed rather put out by the refusal, and for a time it almost appeared as if he were about to throw the stall tickets behind the fire; but by degrees he cooled down, and after it had been decided that he was to call for the ladies about half-past seven, he rose to leave.
“But why not have an early dinner here?” said Mr Marter.