“It's beastly wet,” he said in a melodious ringing voice. “The black dog is on me to-night, Sergius.”
“Oh!”
“You don't want to go out, really,” Anthony continued, looking narrowly at his friend's curiously rigid face.
“Yes, I do.”
“Not to Curzon Street. They've filled up your place. I told Venables to ask Hugh Graham. I knew he was disengaged to-night. Besides—you're seedy.”
Sergius frowned.
“I'm all right again now,” he said coldly, “and I particularly wished to go. You needn't have been so deuced anxious to make the number right.”
“Well, it's done now. And I can't say I'm sorry, because I want to have a talk with you. I say, Serge, take off those lavender gloves, pull off your coat, let's send out for some dinner, and have a comfortable evening together in here. I've had a hard day's work, and I want a rest.”
“I must go out presently.”
“After dinner then.”