"Laugh at it yourself, old man! It's all you can do. But what a frightful list of blunders. If you had to tell a lie why didn't you take Mark Twain's advice and tell a good one? The name, for instance—why on earth did you choose 'Mary?' Even 'Marion' would have been safer. Don't you know you can't turn a corner in Bainbridge or anywhere else without stumbling over a Mary? There's a Mary in my office at the present minute and—yes, by Jove, she has golden hair!"
The professor looked stubborn.
"My Mary's hair was not golden. It was yellow, plain yellow. I remember I made a point of that."
"Well then, there's Mary Davis. You remember her?"
"The one who visited Aunt Caroline?"
"Yes. Pretty girl. About your own age! 'Twas thought in Bainbridge that her thoughts turned youward. Her hair was yellow then, and may be again by now. And she had blue eyes, bright blue."
"My Mary's were not bright blue. Hers were misty, like the hills."
"Forget it, old man! You'll find you won't be able to insist on shades. Any Mary with golden, yellow, tawny or tow-colored hair, and old blue, grey blue, Alice blue or plain blue eyes will come under Mrs. Spence's reflective observation. Your progress will be a regular charge of the light brigade with Marys on all sides."
"Now you're making yourself unpleasant," said the professor. "And, to change the subject, why do you insist upon calling Desire 'Mrs. Spence?' She calls you John."
To his questioner's infinite amazement the doctor blushed.