"'But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult!
And thy beauty never was more fair.'
Some people never take their cues."
"I haven't a book of the words, I'm afraid."
"And you've probably never heard of Matthew Arnold."
"Oh, yes, I have. He translated Homer or something. My tutor was always quoting him."
"You're wonderfully banal at times, Mr. Waring."
"Well, I warned you that I shouldn't be able to stay the course," he answered unabashed.
They dined in amicable dulness. Lady Barbara, who generally shewed a knack of knowing what she wanted and going straight for it, could not define what had made her invite him. His conversation was a minute-gun fire of laboured conventional questions about theatres, the House of Commons and her plans for Christmas. She lacked the lightness of spirit to banter him about his Cockney clerk, still less to work up a scene out of her conversation on the telephone. The humiliation of the Croxton Ball seemed very far away; and, now that she was face to face with him, she found it hard to believe that she had sat half the night staring vengefully into the fire and plotting to punish her glib critic. He was tough of hide as Fatty Webster....