"Certainly. I remember it perfectly. We were standing in St. James's Square, near where I get my shirts. Nobody recognized us. George had a cigar in his mouth, and his exact words were, 'Wottabow Hursday?' I had some of the wood pavement in my eye, and my exact words were therefore excusable."
"And now he's forgotten us both."
"On the contrary, he's probably remembered."
"And is consequently afraid to come himself?"
"Exactly. Well, we couldn't very well overlook the insult, could we?"
"It might be wiped out in paint."
I shook my head. Then:
"French polish might do," I said. "But then, he hasn't got any of that. However. To tell you the truth, I don't know that I'm very angry with him. I shall pretend to be, of course. But, now that from admiring the imitation, I find myself face to face with the real thing, I—"
"And the rest. I like these cigarettes rather."
"Dear Sir or Madam," said I, "what is it about our cigarettes that so appeals to your palate?"