I refrained from facetiousness and told her that I was.
"Oh!" she said.
"Well, well, Margaret," I said in a bright and bustling manner, "we haven't got on very well so far, have we? Can't you think of some subject on which we can conduct a conversation in words of more than one syllable? The skilful hostess should so frame her questions that not even the shyest visitor can fall back on a simple Yes or No. Now," I continued, spreading myself luxuriously over the chesterfield, "you know how shy I am. Try to draw me out, dear. I'm waiting."
I lit a cigarette. Margaret looked reproachfully at me.
"What was yesterday?" she said.
"Tuesday, my dear. We will now have a little chat about Tuesday. Coming as it does so soon after Monday, it not unnaturally exhibits—"
"Tuesday the 25th of February," said Margaret solemnly.
"Possibly, my dear, possibly. But I cannot say that I find your remarks very interesting. They may be true, or they may not, but they certainly seem to me to lack that agreeable whimsicality usually so characteristic of you."
"Our wedding-day," said Margaret impressively.
"Was it really?" I said in a whisper. "And you let it pass without reminding me. Oh, how could you?"