"Thanks," said the man. "I'm Reginald."
"Are you really?" I cried. "Jove, I AM glad to see you. I was just—just thinking of you. How are you?"
"I'm sick of it," said Reginald.
"Sick of what?"
"Of being accepted by Dorothy."
I turned to the girl.
"You don't mean to say—"
"Yes; I'm Dorothy. I'm sick of it too."
"Dorothy!" I cried. "By the way, let me introduce you. Reginald, this is Dorothy. She's sick of it too."
"Thanks," said Reginald coldly. "We have met before."