Paul was puzzled. He shot a glance at Manning, but he was fiddling unconcernedly with his gun. Left to his own resources, he continued to be polite.
"It's awfully rude of me," he said, "but I'm afraid I don't remember."
"Neither do I," she said.
He smiled. So did she. "Let's call it quits," he suggested.
"I'm afraid I must, but I shall hope to remember yet," she retorted whimsically.
"Possibly it was at Cambridge," suggested Paul.
"Rather not," put in Manning, restoring his piece to his arm, "Ursula never comes to see me."
"Of course not," she returned equably, "why should I?"
Manning laughed. They were good friends, these two. "Why, indeed," he said, "but you needn't rub it in. And you might be so nice as to come and have dinner in the immediate future and make up a four at bridge."
"You must first," she said, "extract a nice note of invitation from Mr. Tressor, and it must include mother and auntie. In addition you must call upon us. Call this afternoon, and bring Mr. Kestern. Meantime you're just a little bit of a nuisance at the moment. I want to paint."