“Who’s your girl, Peter?” said young Winterbaum. “Who is your own true love? You’ve got to have some one.”
Peter drew a bow at a venture, and subconscious processes guided the answer. “Sydney Sheldrick,” he said.
Young Winterbaum seemed to snatch even before Peter had done speaking. “I’m going to have Joan,” he said. “She dances better than any one. She’s going to be, oh!—a lovely woman.”
Peter was dimly aware of an error. He had forgotten Joan. “I’m going to have Joan too,” he said.
“You can’t have two sweethearts,” said young Winterbaum.
“I can. I’m going to. I’m different.”
“But Joan’s mine already.”
“Get out,” said Peter indignantly. “You can’t have her.”
“But she’s mine.”
“Shut it,” said Peter vulgarly.