His sentiments did him credit, and he deserved to be asked to dinner.

At Hampstead?
No--no, not at Hampstead; here, at the Club.

The Club was the proper thing; a public recognition of him was the _amende honorable_.
Besides, after all, it was the Club, not Jewdwine, that had offended, and it was right that the Club should expiate its offence.
"What are you doing at Easter ?" he asked.
Rickman stroked his upper lip and smiled as if cherishing a joy as secret and unborn as his moustache.

He recited a selection from the tale of his engagements.
"Can you dine with me here on Saturday?
You're free, then, didn't you say ?" Rickman hesitated.

That was not what he had said.