“Are you going to Lady Anything’s on Friday?”
“I don’t think so.”
“She has asked you, I know. I’m going.”
“Oh?”
“Do come. Lady Anything tells me she has got some interesting people to meet you; and I shall be so miserable if you’re not there.”
Who was he to cause misery to the spotless lady? The victim yielded, and blandly unconscious of feminine guile was paraded before the interesting people as the latest and most lasting conquest of Lena Fontaine’s bow and spear.
August plans were discussed. She was thinking of Dinard. What was Quixtus proposing to do? He had not considered the question. Had contemplated work in London. She held up her hands. London in August! How could he exist in the stuffy place? He needed a real holiday.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know where to go,” said he.
Very delicately she suggested Dinard. He objected in his shy way. Dinard was the haunt of fashion and frivolity.
“I should walk about the place like a daw among peacocks,” said he.