"Young man," he said, "pull yourself together. If your name is Finch, why pretend that it is Winch? I don't like this shiftiness. It does not come well from a Westerner. Leave this petty shilly-shallying to Easterners like that vile rabble of widow-and-orphan oppressors upstairs, all of whom have got incipient Bright's Disease. If your name is Pinch, admit it like a man. Let your yea be yea and your nay be nay," said Mr. Waddington a little severely, holding a match to the fountain-pen which, as will happen to the best of us in moments of emotion, he had mistaken for his cigar.
"As a matter of fact, I'm not," said George.
"Not what?"
"Married."
"I never said you were."
"You asked me if I was."
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"You're sure of that?" said Mr. Waddington keenly.
"Quite. Just after we sat down, you asked me if I was married."