"I'll tell you in six months' time."
Aintree sauntered up with his coat under his arm as Joyce and her sister vanished from sight.
"Rather wonderful, isn't she?" he remarked.
"Which?" I asked.
"Oh, really!" he exclaimed in disgusted protest.
"They are astonishingly alike," I said à propos of nothing.
"They're often mistaken for each other."
"I can well believe it."
"It's a mistake you're not likely to make," he answered significantly.
I took hold of his shoulders, and made him look me in the eyes.