“Well, we can’t help ourselves,” said Billiter.
“H’m!” said Vandermeer, darkly.
Huckaby, conscious of victory, went home, and taking an old student’s text of the “Phædo” from his shelves, abstracted his mind from the sordid happenings of the modern world.
It was a day or two after this adventure of Huckaby’s that Quixtus informed Clementina of his intention of giving a dinner-party, in honour of Tommy and Etta’s engagement. She commended the project; a nice little intimate dinner——
“I’m afraid I’m planning rather a large affair,” said he, apologetically. “A party of about twenty people.”
“Lord save us!” cried Clementina, “where are you going to dig them up from?”
He stretched out his long, thin legs. They were sitting on a bench in the gardens of Russell Square, Sheila having strayed a few yards to investigate the contents of a perambulator in charge of a smiling and friendly nursemaid.
“There are people to whom I owe a return of hospitality,” said he, with a smile, “and I think a certain amount of formality is due to Admiral Concannon.”
“All right,” said Clementina, “who are they?”
“There are the Admiral and yourself and Tommy and Etta, Lord and Lady Radfield, General and Mrs. Barnes, Sir Edward and Lady Quinn, Doorly—the novelist, you know—Mrs. Fontaine and Lady Louisa Malling——”