“But you must!” declared Miss Creed, on a note of panic. “Where are we going?”
“I cannot walk about the streets all night. We had better repair to my house to discuss this matter.”
“No!” said Miss Creed, standing stock-still in the middle of the pavement.
Sir Richard sighed. “Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person,” he said. “I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?”
“I am turned seventeen.”
“Well, I am nearly thirty,” said Sir Richard.
Miss Creed worked this out. “You couldn’t possibly be my father!”
“I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.”
“Well, then, I don’t mind accompanying you” said Miss Creed handsomely. “Are you really drunk?”
“Vilely,” said Sir Richard.