Dickie.
After all, she did have a rotten time of it, poor old lady. Operation after operation. Life wasn’t worth living. She was bound to die. And I call it a jolly happy release.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Where were you last night?
Dickie.
I was at Mrs. Mack’s—no, of course, I wasn’t. I’m so used to saying that that it slips out quite naturally. I’m awfully sorry.
Mrs. Fergusson.
How can you tell me such lies?
Dickie.
I don’t know. I suppose it’s growing into a habit.