"Yes, I am," said Peter, turning away his head. He did not like people who breathed into his face.
"Stuff. Come and have a brandy and soda."
"No, thanks."
"What's the hurry?"
Peter stood in bitter patience, too exasperated to speak.
"Won't you really have a drink?" Dundoon persisted.
"No, thanks," Peter wearily repeated.
"Come home and see the mater. She's your sort. Books and all that."
"Many thanks," said Peter more politely. "I'm afraid I can't."