“First you say I’m your husband,” complained Remsen, “and now you claim acquaintance with me. It isn’t fair. It muddles one’s brain.”
“Look at me hard.”
“I’ve been doing that all day.”
“But it doesn’t seem to have any result Haven’t you ever seen me before?”
“Certainly.”
Darcy almost jumped. “Which time? I mean, where?”
“On the northeast corner of Fifth Avenue and Fiftieth Street, at 2.30 p.m. September 11th,” returned the other, as one who recites a well-conned lesson. “You were looking up at an aeroplane and ran into me. You wore a black-and-white checked suit and a most awfully smart little hat, and I stood there gawking after you until I was in danger of being arrested for obstructing the traffic.”
“Why?”
“Frankly, because I hadn’t seen anything quite like you since I landed, and I wanted to make the most of a poor opportunity.”
“Then why didn’t you lift your hat politely and say, ‘How do you do, Miss Cole?’ Like that.”