"Haberdasher? Why should I be a haberdasher?"
"An acquaintance of yours has been talking—trying to talk to me about you. She said you were."
"Mrs. Denyse?"
"She seems a fearfully queer person, and quite excited about you. There was something about you and a necktie, and—and Mr. Van Dam, and then I escaped."
"Oh! The necktie. Why, yes, I suppose I am a sort of haberdasher, come to think of it."
"I'm glad you're not ashamed of your business if you are of your name. You told her it was Smith."
"Did I? I don't remember that I did, exactly. Even so, what would be the use of wasting a really good name on her? She wouldn't appreciate it."
"Mr. De Dalesquinc—"
"Daddleskink," corrected the Tyro firmly.
"Very well," she sighed. "Daddleskink, then. Wasn't that Dr. Alderson, the historian, that you were walking with yesterday?"