“Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella,” said Argyle, in his musical, indifferent voice. “Yes, Bella's her name. And if you can tell me a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure you, attentively.”
“But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha,” said Aaron.
“Haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if not more.”
“They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?” said Levison.
“Not the very least in the world—if it hadn't been that my elder Aunt Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella. I cut myself off from the family after that. Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not a family name on it. Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest.”
“You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,” said Lilly, laughing.
“Assiduously! Assiduously! I can't stand these little vermin. Oh, I am quite indifferent about swallowing a camel or two—or even a whole string of dromedaries. How charmingly Eastern that sounds! But gnats! Not for anything in the world would I swallow one.”
“You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?” persisted Levison, now turning to Lilly.
“No,” said Lilly. “I was.”
“And am no more,” said Argyle sarcastically. “My dear fellow, the only hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery.”