Standing, as he had risen a moment before, Darley Roberts looked down at the speaker steadily, the distinctive half-smile of tolerant analysis upon his lips. He laughed outright as though to clear the atmosphere.
“Certainly I’ll go, Armstrong, if you wish. It never occurred to me before that you took it that way. I had supposed that you and Elice were an example of two being a company and three making a crowd; also, to change the simile, that previously your invitations were the proverbial crumbs of charity. I’ll be pleased to go any time you wish.”
“All right.” Armstrong too had risen. “How about Sunday evening next week? Elice will be back Saturday.”
“A week from Sunday; I shall not forget.”
With the attitude of a big healthy animal, a bit sleepy now, Roberts stretched himself luxuriously, then started for his own room adjoining, calling back, “Good-night.”
Armstrong watched him in silence until the other’s hand was on the knob.
“Good-night,” he echoed absently.