"Jimmy," he corrected. "Mr. Crocker!" repeated Ann firmly. "Or Algernon, if you prefer it." "May I ask--" Ann regarded him steadily. "May I ask." "Nearly always," said Jimmy, "when people begin with that, they are going to say something unpleasant." "May I ask why you went to all this trouble to make a fool of me? Why could you not have told me who you were from the start?" "Have you forgotten all the harsh things you said to me from time to time about Jimmy Crocker? I thought that, if you knew who I was, you would have nothing more to do with me." "You were quite right." "Surely, though, you won't let a thing that happened five years ago make so much difference?" "I shall never forgive you!" "And yet, a little while ago, when Willie's bomb was about to go off, you flung yourself into my arms!" Ann's face flamed. "I lost my balance." "Why try to recover it?" Ann bit her lip. "You did a cruel, heartless thing. What does it matter how long ago it was? If you were capable of it then--" "Be reasonable. Don't you admit the possibility of reformation? Take your own case. Five years ago you were a minor poetess. Now you are an amateur kidnapper--a bright, lovable girl at whose approach people lock up their children and sit on the key. As for me, five years ago I was a heartless brute. Now I am a sober serious business-man, specially called in by your uncle to help jack up his tottering firm. Why not bury the dead past? Besides--I don't want to praise myself, I just want to call your attention to it--think what I have done for you. You admitted yourself that it was my influence that had revolutionised your character. But for me, you would now be doing worse than write poetry. You would be writing _vers libre_. I saved you from that. And you spurn me!" "I hate you!" said Ann. Jimmy went to the writing-desk and took up a small book. "Put that down!" "I just wanted to read you 'Love's Funeral!' It illustrates my point. Think of yourself as you are now, and remember that it is I who am responsible for the improvement. Here we are. 'Love's Funeral.' 'My heart is dead. . . .' " Ann snatched the book from his hands and flung it away. It soared up, clearing the gallery rails, and fell with a thud on the gallery floor. She stood facing him with sparkling eyes. Then she moved away. "I beg your pardon," she said stiffly. "I lost my temper." "It's your hair," said Jimmy soothingly. "You're bound to be quick-tempered with hair of that glorious red shade. You must marry some nice, determined fellow, blue-eyed, dark-haired, clean-shaven, about five foot eleven, with a future in business. He will keep you in order." "Mr. Crocker!" "Gently, of course. Kindly-lovingly. The velvet thingummy rather than the iron what's-its-name. But nevertheless firmly." Ann was at the door.