“You are staying with us, over tomorrow, Oliver, are you not?” said Mr. Piper calmly, and Oliver assented. “I suppose we shall see each other at breakfast then?”
“Oh yes, sir.” And then Oliver tried to rise to Mr. Piper's magnificence of conventionality in remark. “By the way, sir, I'm driving back in Peter's car—as soon as Mrs. Severance and I have finished our talk—I couldn't pick you up anywhere, sir, could I?”
Mr. Piper smiled, consulting his watch. “There is an excellent train at 10.33—an excellent one—” he said, and again Oliver was dumfounded to realize that the whole march of events in the apartment had taken scarcely two hours.
“Thank you, Oliver, but I think I had better take that. Not that I distrust your driving in the least, but it will be fairly slow going, I imagine, over some of those roads at night—and this was one evening on which I had really intended to get a good night's sleep.”
He smiled again very quaintly.
“You'll be dancing as soon as you get back, I suppose? I understand there is to be a dance this evening?”
“Yes, sir—at least, I guess so. Told Peter I'd show up.”
“Youth,” said Mr. Piper. “Youth.” There was a certain accent of dolefulness in the way he said it.
“And now I shall call a taxi,” he said briskly.
“Can't I take you down—?” Oliver began, but