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.”