"Mixed? Mrs. Jackson didn't know your tastes, so I told her to be extravagant."
"I'll try the coffee, please."
It was an odd sensation to find himself seated at table with such a vivacious companion. Marguérite Garth had evidently banished her overnight experiences into the limbo of yesterday's seven thousand years. She could not have smiled more gayly, or been more at ease with a friend of long standing.
"Betty and I have been exchanging impressions about you," she rattled on. "We agree that you're not half so severe as you look. But I'm not such a marvelous guesser as you are, so, will you tell me what I'm to call you?"
"Bob."
"Mr. Bob?"
"I don't mean that my name rhymes with Lobb, or Dobb or Hobb. Bob is a diminutive of Robert."
"But Robert what?"
"No, just Bob."
"Don't be silly. You must have another name."