"You're bored to death
trying to keep up a conversation."
Lord Arranmore laughed.
"Upon my word, I don't know, Hennibul," he answered. "For the same old
reason, I suppose. One must see some one, do something. I thought that
you might amuse me."
"And I've failed," Hennibul declared, smiling. "Come to supper at the
Savoy to-night. The two new American girls from the Lyric and St. John
Lyttleton are to be there. Moderately respectable, I believe, but a bit
noisy perhaps."
Arranmore shook his head.
"You're a good fellow, Hennibul," he said, "but I'm too old for that
sort of thing."
Hennibul rose to his feet.
"Well," he said, "I've kept the best piece of advice till last because I
want you to think of it. Marry!"
Lord Arranmore did not smile. He did not immediately reply.
"You are a bachelor!" he remarked.
"I am a man of a different disposition," Hennibul answered. "I find
pleasure in everything--everything amuses me. My work is fascinating,
my playtime is never big enough. I really don't know where a wife
would come in. However, if ever I did get a bit hipped, find myself
in your position, for instance, I can promise you that I'd take my own
medicine.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243