Lord Holme looked exceedingly put out.
“Brayley House. What rot!” he exclaimed. “I hate those hind-leg affairs. Why on earth did you accept it?”
“Dear boy, you told me to. But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you so anxious to be free for the first?”
“Well, it’s Miss Schley’s debut at the British. Everyone’s goin’ and Laycock says—”
“I’m not very interested in Mr. Laycock’s aphorisms, Fritz. I prefer yours, I truly do.”
“Oh, well, I’m as good as Laycock, I know. Still—”
“You’re a thousand times better. And so everybody’s going, on Miss Schley’s first night? I only wish we could, but we can’t. Let’s put up with number two. We’re free on the second.”
Lord Holme did not look at all appeased.