After all, this was supposed to be a vacation, wasn't it?
"Well, Mr. Malone," Dorothy said, when the drinks had arrived.
"Very well indeed," Malone said, raising his. "And just call me Ken.
Didn't I tell you that once before?"
"You did," she said. "And I asked you to call me Dorothy. Not Dotty.
Try and remember that."
"I will remember it," Malone said, "just as long as ever I live. You don't look the least bit dotty, anyhow. Which is probably more than anybody could say for me." He started to look at himself in the bar mirror again, and decided not to. "By the way," he added, as a sudden thought struck him. "Dotty what?"
"Now," she said. "There you go doing it."
"Doing what?"
"Calling me that name."
"Oh," Malone said. "Make it Dorothy. Dorothy what?" He blinked. "I mean, I know you've got a last name. Dorothy Something. Only it probably isn't Something. What is it?"
"Francis," she said obligingly. "Dorothy Francis. My middle name is Something, in case you ever want to call me by my middle name. Just yell, 'Hey, Something,' and I'll come a-running. Unless I have something else to do. In which case everything will be very simple: I won't come."