"Not _really_?
Well, I am rather glad! Only yesterday I was asking Sir Roger whether there were many young people about.

And _how_ near are you?
_Very_ near ?" "About as near as I well can be," answers he, dryly.

"My lodge exactly faces yours." "Too close," say I, shaking my head.

"We shall quarrel." "And do you mean to say," in a tone of attempted lightness that but badly disguises a good deal of hurt conceit, "that you never heard my name before ?" Again I shake my head.
"Never! and, what is more, I do not think I know what it is now: I suppose I did not listen very attentively, but I do not think I caught it." "And your tone says" (with a very considerable accession of huffiness) "that you are supremely indifferent as to whether you _ever_ catch it." I laugh.
"_Catch_ it! you talk as if it were a _disease_.

Well" (speaking demurely), "perhaps on the whole it _would_ be more convenient if I were to know it." Silence.
"Well! what is it ?" No answer.
"I shall have to ask at your lodge!" "Who _can_ pronounce his _own_ name in cold blood ?" he says, reddening a little.