“Absolutely,” said Ezekiel.
“Then I can only say,” I replied, “that I fail to agree with you.”
It was an awkward moment, and it was not until the third attempt that Ezekiel succeeded in making himself intelligible.
“And so you mean to imply,” he said, “that for the purposes of approaching Miss Moonbeam, your personality is superior to mine?”
I touched his arm, not without affection.
“Or shall we rather say,” I replied, “that it is more attractive?”
“But I deny it,” he cried. “I deny it most passionately. I deny it with every fibre of my being,”
I withdrew my glove for a moment from his coat-sleeve.
“But, my dear Ezekiel,” I said, “that doesn’t alter the position.”
“The position?” he said. “What position?”