"Excuse me," she said, "but is that the Slinker Slouch I've heard of? Your attitude, I mean?"
"No," I said shortly. "It's the Leicester Lounge. But, to return to your unkindness. I want a bath just as much as you do."
She recoiled. "You know what I mean. I'm a customer, like you. We're both in the same ba-boat. And I have been doing my best to indicate the merits of—er—of—"
"The idle rich," she said, smiling. "Yes, but you see you shouldn't have. When you saw me coming you ought to have—"
"Dodged behind a pillar, picked up my stick and gloves, and kept about ten bath-lengths away, until the partner reappeared? No doubt. But, then, you shouldn't have looked so priceless, or worn your sense of humour on your sleeve. You shouldn't have had a small, straight nose or a mouth like a red flower. You shouldn't have walked like a thoroughbred, or carried your clothes as if they were worth wearing. You shouldn't have had eyes I could see to read by, if the light failed."
"Finished?"
"No. But listen. I think I hear the partner coming—the genuine article, this time." There was no sound.
"Anyway," I went on, "he'll be back in a moment; and so, as I'm afraid I didn't consider you just now, I'll try and make up for it. Good-bye."
"But what about your bath? Have you seen one you like?"
"Yes," said I. "I have. One. Not a bath, though. But I can easily come another day."