I'm tired of those confounded dinners.

You know yourself that they are all alike--the same people, the same flowers, the same things to eat, and the same inane twaddle in the shape of talk.

Who cares about them anyway ?" "Well, I like that," she interrupted.

"After all the thought I put into those dinners, after all the variety I so carefully secured! My dear boy, you are frightfully ungrateful." "Oh, you know what I mean.

And you know quite as well as I do that it is perfectly true.