"Quigley, really, this isn't the time or place for a political discussion. We'll have to reschedule dinner for tomorrow. Phillipa won't return my phone calls and I'm feeling dreadfully morose. I simply can't bear this black hole that is my heart."
"Mews, my dear boy. You really must buck up. What am I to tell our guests? That Mews is curled up on the couch crying his eyes out over a prissy sass who won't give him the time of day?" Quigley leans over and pecks Mews in the nose. "I'll give you the afternoon my boy. Dinner is at 8 and Tolliver and Combs will be bringing a stiff Cabernet. I expect you'll be recovered by then. Mews. Mews?"
"Yes, yes, give me the afternoon. I'll pull myself together for our guests. Blast that enigmatic Phillipa. Damn her hold over me."