“Oh, that’s only a nickname; her real name is Grace Adelaide Victoria Tross-Kingdon.”
“Worse and more of it!”
“Jim!” she protested sternly.
“I beg your pardon, Dorothy—no offense meant. Millikins-Pillikins is related to Miss Muriel Tross-Kingdon, I suppose?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, it may be all right,” sighed the thoroughly practical Jim, “but this putting a hyphen between your last two names looks to me like a play for notoriety.”
Dorothy’s eyes flashed fire as she turned a swift gaze upon him.
“Now, look here, Jim Barlow, we’ve been fast friends for years, and I don’t want to have a falling out, but you shall not slander my friends. And please remember, sir, that the last two words in my name are connected by a hyphen, then see if you can’t bridle your tongue a while.”
Dorothy, plainly displeased, turned and looked out of the car window. But she did not see the green fields, or the cool-looking patches of woodland that were flashing past; she was wondering if she had spoken hastily to her boy chum, and whether he would resent her tone.
But Jim, after a moment’s silence, became duly humble.