"No," said I. "I'm Lady Betty Bulkeley."
"That's all right," said the nose man, as if he forgave me for being myself. "I didn't know but you'd want to be called Lady Bulkeley by strangers."
"It isn't my name," I said, more puzzled than ever. I would have tried to be dignified, as he was a perky-looking young man in an alpaca coat; but when you have just made a person's nose bleed with your hat, it would seem unfeeling to be too frigid,--though I believe an application of ice is supposed to be beneficial.
"Shall I call you Lady Betty then?" asked the man, patting his nose with his handkerchief, which luckily for my nerves had already a pattern of pink dots on it.
"I don't see why you should call me anything," said I.
With that, he produced a card, with a whole string of words printed on it, and poked it under my eyes. "I was just going to introduce myself," he said. "I represent The New York Flashlight, and I've been sent by my paper to get something from you, if you'll oblige me."
"Something from me?" I repeated, bewildered. "Is it anything to do with the Customs? I've nothing to declare."
"Just tell me, please, something about your family. Your brother's the Duke of Stanforth, isn't he?" (He pronounced it "Dook.")
"Yes, but——"
"Thanks. Young and unmarried, isn't he?"