“What about Billy—what about the dog?”
“Your man took him out,” said Buffy.
Mr. Petre added, as though it were a most solemn thing: “I bought that dog as a puppy at Henley. You remember? You were with me. When was that?” he said sharply.
“Three years ago last June,” said Thompson, looking at him curiously again. “You ought to remember that better than I do.”
“I ought,” said Mr. Petre humbly. “I ought, Buffy,” he added, “I think I ought to sleep.”
“You look as though you’d been up; but, damn it! it isn’t seven yet,” said Thompson, “and I’ve any amount of things to ask you. Are you tired?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Petre, “I think I ought to sleep.”
“Get a nap,” said Buffy, stretching himself, “and I’ll wait here for you and read. Go in and get a nap and then we can go out and dine together somewhere. I’m dying to hear all about it.”
“About what?” said Mr. Petre, his mind troubled again, and a drowsiness falling upon him.
“Why, your travels, of course,” said Thompson.