“Oh, Great Scott!” I said. “Don’t tell me you’re in love again.”

He seemed aggrieved.

“What do you mean⁠—again?”

“Well, to my certain knowledge you’ve been in love with at least half a dozen girls since the spring, and it’s only July now. There was that waitress and Honoria Glossop and⁠—”

“Oh, tush! Not to say pish! Those girls? Mere passing fancies. This is the real thing.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“On top of a bus. Her name is Charlotte Corday Rowbotham.”

“My God!”