These words, and other words before them, now began to penetrate Wolf’s consciousness, as they might have done with a person recovering from an anaesthetic.

“Sorry,” he muttered apologetically, standing stock-still on the pavement. “I wasn’t listening.”

Darnley stroked his pointed beard and looked him up and down.

“You’re boy-drunk, poor devil,” he murmured sympathetically. “It does take time to wear off. You’re repeating to yourself what you’d like to have retorted to Rintoul Minor when he made you feel a fool. I’m often like that myself.”

“No, I’m not,” protested the other. “But what were you saying?”

“Nothing very startling,” said Darnley quietly, pulling him forward by the arm. “It’s only I thought I’d take you with me to Christie’s to lunch. Gerda won’t mind, once in a way, will she?”