"I suppose you'll be backing out of the Pierce affair
yet," he added, discontentedly.
"No," said Peter.
"An invitation to Grey-Court is worth two of the Shrubberies. My mother
knows only the right kind of people, while Mr. Pierce--"
"Is to be our host," interrupted Peter, but with no shade of correction
in his voice.
"Yes," laughed Watts, "and he is a host. He'll not let any one else get
a word in edgewise. You are just the kind of talker he'll like. Mark my
word, he'll be telling every one, before you've been two hours in the
house, that you are a remarkably brilliant conversationalist."
"What will he say of you?" said Peter, in a sentence which he broke up
into reasonable lengths by a couple of pulls at his pipe in the middle
of it.
"Mr. Pierce, chum," replied Watts, with a look in his eyes which Peter
had learned to associate with mischief on Watts's part, "has too great
an affection for yours truly to object to anything I do. Do you suppose,
if I hadn't been sure of my footing at the Shrubberies, that I should
have dared to ask an invitation for"--then Watts hesitated for a moment,
seeing a half-surprised, half-anxious look come into Peter's face, "for
myself?" he continued.
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