"Can't you come up to the house for dinner to-night?"
He realized that this would mean meeting Mildred—and dressing in his evening things. He did not want to put on his evening things. They had danced with Persis last. He did not want to meet any woman. He was in mourning. All this flashed through his mind while he was inventing an excuse of official duty.
"To-morrow night, then?"
"Terribly sorry. I can't get off."
"How about lunch? At the club—to-morrow."
"I'd like that."
"I have something to discuss with you."
"I'll be there! At one?"
"Fine! One o'clock. Metropolitan Club. Do you know where it is?"