"You've got to take her home to-night, old man."
"I won't." It was the Philosopher.
"You've got to. It's your turn. No shirking."
"I'll be hanged if I will."
"I'll be hanged if I will. There's a limit."
"I'd always supposed there was. There doesn't seem to be."
"Come along—stand up to it like a man. It's up to you to-night. She can't carry you off bodily."
"I'm not so sure of that." The Philosopher's tone was grim.
So far I had been transfixed. But now I hurried away. I was consumed with anxiety during the next ten minutes, lest they come to blows in settling it. But when they appeared I could tell that they had settled it somehow.
When Dahlia arose and said that she positively must go they both accompanied her. The transit occupied less time than it had done on any previous occasion.