Part 65 (1/2)
”That's what we've come about,” said Dorothy.
I rubbed my forehead wearily.
”Would one of you explain?” I asked. ”I can't think what's happened.
You're at least a paragraph ahead of me.”
Reginald sat down again and lit a cigarette.
”It's simply this,” he said, trying to keep calm. ”You may call me what you like, but I am always the same person week after week.”
”Nonsense. Why, it was Richard last week.”
”But the same person.”
”And Gerald the week before. Gerald, yes; he was rather a good chap.”
”Just the same, only the name was different. And who are we? We are you as you imagine yourself to be.”
I looked inquiringly at Dorothy.
”Last week,” he went on, ”you called me Richard. And I proposed to Phyllis.”
”And I accepted him,” said Dorothy.
”You!” I said. ”What were YOU doing there, I should like to know?”
”Last week I was Phyllis.”
”The week before,” went on Reginald, ”I was Gerald, and I proposed to Millicent.”
”I was Millicent, and I accepted him.”
”The week before that I was--Good Heavens, think of it--I was George!”
”A beastly name, I agree,” I said.
”You gave it me.”
”Yes, but I wasn't feeling very well that week.”
”I was Mabel,” put in Dorothy, ”and I accepted him.”
”No, no, no--no, don't say that. I mean, one doesn't accept people called George.”
”You made me.”
”Did I? I'm awfully sorry. Yes, I quite see your point.”
”The week before,” went on Reginald remorselessly, ”I was--”
”Don't go back into February, please! February is such a rotten month with me. Well now, what's your complaint?”