Shelmerdene: I am very well, thank you. May I know to whom I am giving this information?
The Voice: Shelmerdene! Do you really mean to say that you don’t recognise my voice?
Shelmerdene: I am sorry. I do hate to hurt people. And you have a very nice voice, too!
The Voice: Thank you, Shelmerdene. (Bitterly) Well, as you don’t recognise my voice I had better go away. Are you sure you don’t, my dear?
Shelmerdene: Well, you know, the profusion of endearing epithets in your conversation leads me to conclude that you are either a friend or a person of colossal cheek. But now I come to think of it, I have a vague idea about you. You have the voice of a man I dined with once.
The Voice: Ah, yes! You dined with me once—upon a time.
Shelmerdene: Oh, la, la! I said once, my friend.
The Voice: You were never a great mathematician, Shelmerdene. But what does it matter how often we dined, so long as we did dine? And ever since then I have remembered you, for there are very few beautiful women, even in one’s dreams. Therefore I have rung you up, after all these years.
Shelmerdene: Thank you, stranger. You speak very prettily. Are you trying to pretend that you were in love with me at that distant time?
The Voice: I think I am in love with you now.