"Jilted me," I supplied. "Don't hesitate to call a spade a spade."
"A lovely, angelic-looking creature, typically English; golden hair; skin like cream and roses."
"The type has palled upon me," said I. "I know now that Molly Winston—my friend's wife—was right. I never really loved that girl. It was her popularity and my own vanity that I was in love with."
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as that I'm starving for my breakfast. If the young lady—she's married now, and I wish her all happiness—should appear before me at the end of this street, and sob out a confession of repentance for the past, it wouldn't in the least affect my appetite. I should tell her not to mind, and hurry on to join you at the corner."
"You would have forgotten by that time that there was a Me."
"I can't think of anyone or anything at the moment which would make me forget that," said I.
"The Contessa?"
"Not she, nor any other pretty doll."
"An earthquake, then?"