Dolly perused the note, written in a random, spidery fashion upon hand-made paper. “She wants us to dine there on Thursday,” she said, tapping her lips with the paper in a thoughtful manner.
“Thursday? I shall be at Swanborough market.”
“Dinner means eight o’clock in the evening; you’ll be home then.”
“Oh, I forgot,” said Bernard. “Shall you accept?”
Dolly did not reply, but continued to tap her lips. Mrs. Merton had been at the pains of mentioning her other invited guests. Presently Dolly said, “Bernard.”
“Well.”
“I’ve had two offers of marriage to-day.”
“I’m glad Farquhar’s come up to the scratch. I didn’t want to have to thrash him. But who’s the other?”
“Lucian de Saumarez.”
“Him!” exclaimed Bernard. “Dolly, I’d take him; I like him.”