"Because my name is Smith."
"Permit me to present," said Lord Guenn, who had been quietly but joyously appreciative of the duel, "my ancestral friend, Mr. Alexander Forsyth Smith."
"Why didn't you tell me your real name?" Little Miss Grouch's offended regard was fixed upon the Tyro.
"Well, you remember, you made fun of the honorable cognomen of Smith when we first met."
"That is no excuse."
"And you were mysterious as an owl about your own identity."
"I could see no occasion for revealing it." The delicately modeled nose was now quite far in the air.
"So I thought I'd furnish a really interesting name for you to amuse yourself with. I'm sorry you don't care for it."
Little Miss Grouch's limpid and lofty consideration passed from the anxious physiognomy of the speaker to the mirthful countenances of the other three.
"I'm not sure that I shall ever speak to any of you again," she stated, and, turning her back, marched away from them with lively resentment expressed in every supple line of her figure.