"I can't rise to that. I'm going as myself in a silver frock."
"Could anything be sweeter? A little silver Dot. I shall cancel the body-snatcher—I mean billiard-marker—and go as Carry One. Then we can dance together all the evening. By the way, in case I don't hear your voice, how shall I know you?"
"A dot," said my lady, "is that which hath position, but no magnitude."
"Possibly," said I. "It hath also a dear voice, which, though it be produced indefinitely, will never tire. All the same, in view of the capacity of the Albert Hall, you've not given me much to go on."
"As a matter of fact, each of us is going as a parallel line. And that's why I can tell you that I like the sound of you, and—oh, well, enough said."
"Thank you, Dot. And why parallel lines?"
"They never meet. So long."
There was a faint chunk.
My lady had rung off.
Heavily I hung up my receiver.