He looked up at her in some surprise.
"That is, you won't," she added more mildly, "if you care to do me a favour."
"What an absurd 'if.' Give your orders."
"Well, I have some people coming to dinner on Wednesday. I—I—want them to know you."
"What a treat!" he said sarcastically.
"I want you to know them, too. You see, they're all rich people. And you've hated them without knowing what very ordinary human beings they really are. I think you owe it to your own sense of fairness to see some of the oppressors of the poor in the flesh."
"It's quite impossible," he declared firmly.
She chose to ignore the finality of his tone.
"It isn't quite just, is it, to write articles about the feelings and the motives of people you don't really know?"
He strove to divert the argument. "There's something in perspective, you know."