I don't want to be up there when it comes off." "Oh! my dear boy," murmured Winifred, "it is a bore for you." So, by habit, she phrased what, from the expression of her face, was the most poignant regret.

"When will it be, Soames ?" "Can't tell--not for months.

We must get restitution first." 'What the deuce is that ?' thought Val.

'What silly brutes lawyers are! Not for months! I know one thing: I'm not going to dine in!' And he said: "Awfully sorry, mother, I've got to go out to dinner now." Though it was his last night, Winifred nodded almost gratefully; they both felt that they had gone quite far enough in the expression of feeling.
Val sought the misty freedom of Green Street, reckless and depressed.
And not till he reached Piccadilly did he discover that he had only eighteen-pence.

One couldn't dine off eighteen-pence, and he was very hungry.