"Salaam, O Empress," returned the Tyro, executing a most elaborate Oriental bow, the concluding spiral of which almost involved him in Mrs. Charlton Denyse's suddenly impending periphery.
Mrs. Denyse retired three haughty paces.
"I wish to speak to Miss Wayne," she announced with a manner which implied that she did not wish and never again would wish to speak to Miss Wayne's companion.
"With me?" asked Little Miss Grouch, bland surprise in her voice.
"Yes. I have a message."
Little Miss Grouch waited.
"A private message," continued the lady.
"Is it very private? You know Mr. Daddleskink-Smith, I believe?"
"I've seen Mr. Daddleskink-Smith," frigidly replied the lady, mistaking the introducer's hesitation for a hyphen, "if that is what he calls himself now."
"It isn't," said the Tyro. "You know, Mrs. Denyse, I've always held that the permutation of names according to the taste of the inheritor, is one of the most interesting phases of social ingenuity."