"I know a lot more about you than you think," said I. "I never told you
half what I dreamed."

"What do you know?"

"Oh, nothing momentous. Just the more intimate details of your everyday
life. Your partiality to mushrooms, your recognition of Love, your
recklessness, pretty peculiarities of your toilet----"

"Good Heavens!" cried Miss Childe.

"But you wouldn't tell me your name."

"False modesty. Seriously you don't mean to say----"

"But I do. Nothing was hid from me. Your little bare feet----"

A stifled scream interrupted me.

"This," said Miss Childe, "is awful." We turned into the mews. "What are
you doing to-morrow?"

"Dictating. You see, there's a dream I want recorded."

"I shall expect you at half-past one. We can start after lunch. I've a
beautiful hand."

"I know you have. Two of them. They were bare, too," I added
reflectively.