"She is awfully clever."
"Poor girl, but I suppose it's not such a bore for a girl as it would be for a man. I'm an awful ass myself, you know. I mean, I'm absolutely incapable of doing anything."
"How did you know we belonged to the company?" asked Dorothy, implying that with all his modesty he must possess acute powers of judgment hidden away somewhere.
"Well, to tell you the truth, we didn't know. Somebody said your friend was a medical student, only I wasn't going to have that, and some man said he'd noticed you at the station, so Lonnie and I went to the theater on the off-chance and tried to spot you."
"Which you did?"
"Oh, rather. Only, then we couldn't spot your name. I was all for Clarice Beauchamp."
"She's an awfully horrid girl," said Dorothy, quickly.
"Is she? I'm sorry to hear that. And Lonnie betted you were Fay Onslow. So we were quits. Funny thing you should have the same name as Lonnie. No relation, I suppose?"
He was evidently so sure of this that Dorothy was rather piqued and asked, loftily, which Lonsdale he was.
"Cleveden's son."