"Is your conversation to be about—about private affairs?"
"No, I can't say that. But I doubt if mother would think it the sort of thing that's 'necessary to your development.'"
This assertion appeared to inspire her with the eagerness with which she again broke out: "But who are they—who are they?"
"I know nothing of the ladies. I never saw them before. The man's a fellow I knew very well at Oxford. He was thought immense fun there. We've diverged, as he says, and I had almost lost sight of him, but not so much as he thinks, because I've read him—read him with interest. He has written a very clever book."
"What kind of a book?"
"A sort of novel."
"What sort of novel?"
"Well, I don't know—with a lot of good writing." Biddy listened to this so receptively that she thought it perverse her brother should add: "I daresay Peter will have come if you return to mother."
"I don't care if he has. Peter's nothing to me. But I'll go if you wish it."
Nick smiled upon her again and then said: "It doesn't signify. We'll all go."