"I show there that love is a reasoned emotion that springs from mutual knowledge, increasing over an extended period of time, and a community of tastes. How can you love a girl when you have never spoken to her and don't even know her name?"
"I do know her name."
"How?"
"I looked through the telephone directory till I found out who lived at Number 16, East Seventy-Ninth Street. It took me about a week, because...."
"Sixteen East Seventy-Ninth Street? You don't mean that this girl you've been staring at is little Molly Waddington?"
George started.
"Waddington is the name, certainly. That's why I was such an infernal time getting to it in the book. Waddington, Sigsbee H." George choked emotionally, and gazed at his friend with awed eyes. "Hamilton! Hammy, old man! You—you don't mean to say you actually know her? Not positively know her?"
"Of course I know her. Know her intimately. Many's the time I've seen her in her bath-tub."
George quivered from head to foot.
"It's a lie! A foul and contemptible...."