THE GENTLEMAN (peering at her quaintly from under the umbrella).
Don't you know me?

MRS. CLANDON (incredulously, looking hard at him) Are you Finch
McComas?

McCOMAS. Can't you guess? (He shuts the umbrella; puts it aside;
and jocularly plants himself with his hands on his hips to be
inspected.)

MRS. CLANDON. I believe you are. (She gives him her hand. The
shake that ensues is that of old friends after a long separation.)
Where's your beard?

McCOMAS (with humorous solemnity). Would you employ a solicitor with
a beard?

MRS. CLANDON (pointing to the silk hat on the table). Is that your
hat?

McCOMAS. Would you employ a solicitor with a sombrero?

MRS. CLANDON. I have thought of you all these eighteen years with
the beard and the sombrero. (She sits down on the garden seat. McComas
takes his chair again.) Do you go to the meetings of the Dialectical
Society still?

McCOMAS (gravely). I do not frequent meetings now.