"That's what we've come about," said Dorothy.
I rubbed my forehead wearily.
"Would one of you explain?" I asked. "I can't think what's happened.
You're at least a paragraph ahead of me."
Reginald sat down again and lit a cigarette.
"It's simply this," he said, trying to keep calm. "You may call me what you like, but I am always the same person week after week."
"Nonsense. Why, it was Richard last week."
"But the same person."
"And Gerald the week before. Gerald, yes; he was rather a good chap."
"Just the same, only the name was different. And who are we? We are you as you imagine yourself to be."
I looked inquiringly at Dorothy.
"Last week," he went on, "you called me Richard. And I proposed to Phyllis."
"And I accepted him," said Dorothy.
"You!" I said. "What were YOU doing there, I should like to know?"
"Last week I was Phyllis."
"The week before," went on Reginald, "I was Gerald, and I proposed to Millicent."
"I was Millicent, and I accepted him."
"The week before that I was--Good Heavens, think of it--I was George!"
"A beastly name, I agree," I said.
"You gave it me."
"Yes, but I wasn't feeling very well that week."
"I was Mabel," put in Dorothy, "and I accepted him."
"No, no, no--no, don't say that. I mean, one doesn't accept people called George."
"You made me."
"Did I? I'm awfully sorry. Yes, I quite see your point."
"The week before," went on Reginald remorselessly, "I was--"
"Don't go back into February, please! February is such a rotten month with me. Well now, what's your complaint?"
"Just what I said," explained Reginald. "You think you have a new hero and heroine every week, but you're mistaken. We are always the same; and, personally, I am tired of proposing week after week to the same girl."
There was just something about Reginald that I seemed to recognize.
Just the very slightest something.
"Then who are you really," I asked, "if you're always the same person?"
"Yourself. Not really yourself, of course, but yourself as you fondly imagine you are."
I laughed scornfully. "You're nothing of the sort. How ridiculous!
The hero of my own stories, indeed! Myself idealized--then I suppose you think you're rather a fine fellow?" I sneered.
"I suppose you think I am."
"No, I don't. I think you are a silly ass. Saying I'm my own hero.
I'm nothing of the sort. And I suppose Dorothy is me, too?"
"I'm the girl you're in love with," said Dorothy. "Idealized."
"I'm not in love with any one," I denied indignantly.
"Then your ideal girl."
"Ah, you might well be that," I smiled.
I looked at her longingly. She was wonderfully beautiful. I went a little closer to her.
"And we've come," said Reginald, putting his oar in again, "to say that we're sick of getting engaged every week."
I ignored Reginald altogether.
"Are you really sick of him?" I asked Dorothy.
"Yes!"
"As sick of him as I am?"
"I--I daresay."
"Then let's cross him out," I said. And I went back to the table and took up my pen. "Say the word," I said to Dorothy.
"Steady on," began Reginald uneasily. "All I meant was--"
"Personally, as you know," I said to Dorothy, "I think he's a silly ass. And if you think so too--"
"I say, look here, old chap--"