the other side of the door came the sound of many voices.
He turned and stared at me.
“Bertie! What on earth are you doing? Where have you sprung from? When did you arrive?”
“Landed this morning. I went round to your hotel, but they said you weren’t there. They had never heard of you.”
“I’ve changed my name. I call myself George Wilson.”
“Why on earth?”
“Well, you try calling yourself Augustus Mannering-Phipps over here, and see how it strikes you. You feel a perfect ass. I don’t know what it is about America, but the broad fact is that it’s not a place where you can call yourself Augustus Mannering-Phipps. And there’s another reason. I’ll tell you later. Bertie, I’ve fallen in love with the dearest girl in the world.”
The poor old