"Till ten?" hazarded Joey, with the air of one initiating a Dutch auction.
"Don't ask me, old lady."
"Supposing," suggested Miss Gaymer craftily, "that you was to say you wanted me to sit up and keep you company?"
Hughie laughed. "Afraid that wouldn't work. I have to go out about nine to a Bump Supper."
"What's that?"
"A College supper, in honour of the men who have been rowing."
"I like suppers," said Miss Gaymer tentatively.
Hughie smiled. "I don't think you'd like this one, Joey," he said.
"Why? Don't they have any sixpences or thimbles in the t'ifle?" said Miss Gaymer, in whose infant mind the word supper merely conjured up a vision of sticky children, wearing paper caps out of crackers, distending themselves under adult supervision.
"I don't think they have any trifle."