Considering the conversation he had broken in upon, none of us had a very ready answer at hand.
“I have heaps of letters to answer to-night, and must do it,” said Whitney. “Thank you all the same.”
Richardson might have read coolness in the tone; I don’t know; but he turned the back of his chair on Bill to face Tod.
“You have not letters to write, I suppose, Todhetley?”
“Not I. I leave letters to Ludlow.”
“You’ll come, then?”
“Can’t,” said Tod candidly. “Don’t mean to go in for wine-parties.”
“Oh,” said Richardson. “You’ll tell another tale when you’ve been here a bit longer. Will you be still, you brutes?”
“Hope I shan’t,” said Tod. “Wine plays the very mischief with work. Should never get any done if I went in for it.”