At that moment I was called out of the room to speak to the housekeeper about something. In three minutes I was back again; and I had just dipped my pen in the ink, when there came a cough from the direction of the sofa--and there, as cool as you please, were sitting two persons entirely unknown to me.... "I beg your pardon," I said. "The housekeeper never told me. Whom have I the--what did you--" "Thanks," said the man. "I'm Reginald." "Are you really?" I cried. "Jove, I AM glad to see you. I was just--just thinking of you. How are you?" "I'm sick of it," said Reginald. "Sick of what?" "Of being accepted by Dorothy." I turned to the girl. "You don't mean to say--" "Yes; I'm Dorothy. I'm sick of it too." "Dorothy!" I cried. "By the way, let me introduce you. Reginald, this is Dorothy. She's sick of it too." "Thanks," said Reginald coldly. "We have met before." "Surely not. Just let me look a moment.... No, I thought not. You don't meet till the next paragraph. If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, I shan't be a moment." Reginald stood up. "Look here," he said. "Do you know who I am?" "You're just Reginald," I said; "and there's no need to stand about looking so dignified, because I only thought of you ten minutes ago, and if you're not careful I shall change your name to Harold. You're Reginald, and you're going to meet Dorothy in the next paragraph, and you'll flirt with her mildly for about two columns. And at the end, I expect--no, I am almost sure, that you will propose and be accepted." "Never," said Reginald angrily. "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--"