I had had about enough of this spelling-bee.

“Will you open the door and take this child in?”

“I mustn’t open the door. This Miss Wooster that I knew married a man named Spenser. Was she any relation?”

“She is my Aunt Agatha,” I replied, and I spoke with a good deal of bitterness, trying to suggest by my manner that he was exactly the sort of man, in my opinion, who would know my Aunt Agatha.

He beamed down at me.