“I wonder if he’ll pay his dinner-call today?” Emma said to her husband, when at lunch he’d remarked on the splendid blooms on the table, and she’d mentioned who had sent them.
“I don’t suppose he’s going to live here,” Ivy Gilbert remarked rather unnecessarily.
“I don’t suppose he is,” Lady Snow said cheerfully, “but he’s sure to call promptly—Charlie said so.”
“I?” the knight she’d quoted demanded.
“You said the Chinese were punctiliously polite. It amounts to the same thing.”
“Bless my soul!” Sir Charles muttered.
“I think I’ll go out calling tomorrow instead of today. I’d be vexed to miss him.”
“Do you like Mr. Sên?” Ivy asked indifferently.
“I don’t dislike him. I thought he was good fun. Do you, Ivy?”
“Which?”