He positively refused to touch the coffee or the cigar, even though Blandford took care to remind him they had been paid for. Nor, except when spoken to, could he bring himself to open his lips or take part in the general talk.
Blandford, however, who, ever since the incident of the bill, seemed to consider himself entitled to play a patronising part towards his schoolfellow, continued to keep him from lapsing into obscurity.
“Where’s your brother living?” he asked presently.
“He’s in town, too,” said Reginald. “My mother and he and I live together.”
“Where? I’d like to call on your mother.”
“We live in Dull Street,” said Reginald, beginning in sheer desperation to pluck up heart and hang out no more false colours.
“Dull Street? That’s rather a shady locality, isn’t it?” said Mr Pillans.
Reginald rounded on him. Blandford might have a right to catechise him; but what business was it of this numbskull’s where he lived?
“You’re not obliged to go there,” he said, with a curl of his lip, “unless you like.”
Mr Shanklin smiled at this sally, a demonstration which considerably incensed the not too amiable Mr Pillans.