“I do,” was his unabashed affirmative. “Nice, comfortable, elevating palliness with you; and a right down rollicking bust-up occasionally with the ladies of the unpretending school of wild oats.”
“I want my giant for the present to be satisfied with his palliness with me and his work. Do you think he will?”
“As I haven’t seen him I can’t say. If I get the chance, however, I’ll tell him that ‘wild oats’ are the very devil, and I’d give all I’ve got to have stuck to work and had naught to do with ’em.”
“You know you wouldn’t, Flip,” with a little laugh.
“I know I couldn’t, you mean; but I never admit it to juniors.”
“Well, you shall come to the flat to meet him. If he gets a brief, we’ll have a little dinner party, and I’ll ask Hal and her cousin and St. Quintin.”
“Right you are. I haven’t seen Miss Pritchard for ages. Shall we turn now, and go back by Rottingdean?”
“Let us go whichever way has the best view of the sea. I feel I want to look at wide, breezy spaces for a while, and not talk at all.”
“You shall,” he promised, and they sped along in silence.