“Then you think if Beattie and I give another dinner at the Carlton—a piece of reckless extravagance, but we are made on entertaining!—Robin won’t be ill again?”
“Another dinner? You’ll be ruined.”
“I’ve got several more briefs. Would Robin be ill?”
“How the deuce can any one know?”
“I’ll hazard a guess. He would be ill.”
Dion reddened. There was sudden heat not only in his cheeks but also about his heart.
“I didn’t know you were capable of talking such pernicious rubbish!” he said.
“Let’s prove whether it’s rubbish or not. Beattie will send Rosamund another dinner invitation to-morrow, and then we’ll wait and see what happens to Robin’s health.”
“Guy, I don’t want to have a quarrel with you.”
“A quarrel? What about?”