“Miss Summerside, meet Mr. O’Hara,” after which Miss Summerside says very distinctly, “Mr. O’Hara,” and Mr. O’Hara says with equal clearness “Miss Summerside.”  In this circle a mark of exquisite breeding is found in the request to have the name repeated.  “I don’t quite catch the name!” says Mr. O’Hara critically; then he catches it and repeats it—­“Miss Summerside.”

“Catching the name” is a necessary part of this social encounter.  If not caught the first time it must be put over again.  The peculiar merit of this introduction is that it lets Miss Summerside understand clearly that Mr. O’Hara never heard of her before.  That helps to keep her in her place.

In superior circles, however, introduction becomes more elaborate, more flattering, more unctuous.  It reaches its acme in what everyone recognizes at once as

The Clerical Method

This is what would be instinctively used in Anglican circles—­as, for example, by the Episcopal Bishop of Boof in introducing a Canon of the Church to one of the “lady workers” of the congregation (meaning a lady too rich to work) who is expected to endow a crib in the Diocesan Home for Episcopal Cripples.  A certain quantity of soul has to be infused into this introduction.  Anybody who has ever heard it can fill in the proper accentuation, which must be very rich and deep.

“Oh, Mrs. Putitover, may I introduce my very dear old friend, Canon Cutitout?  The Canon, Mrs. Putitover, is one of my dearest friends.  Mrs. Putitover, my dear Canon, is quite one of our most enthusiastic workers.”

After which outburst of soul the Bishop is able to add, “Will you excuse me, I’m afraid I simply must run.”

Personally, I have never known or met a Bishop in society in any other situation than just about to run.  Where they run to, I do not know.  But I think I understand what they run from.

The Lounge Room of the Club

Equally high in the social scale but done quite differently is the Club Introduction.  It is done by a club man who, for the life of him, can’t remember the names of either of the two club men whom he is introducing, and who each, for the life of him, can’t think of the name of the man they are being introduced by.  It runs—­

“Oh, I say, I beg your pardon—­I thought, of course, you two fellows knew one another perfectly well—­let me introduce—­urr——­wurr——­”

Later on, after three whiskey-and-sodas, each of the three finds out the names of the other two, surreptitiously from the hall porter.  But it makes no difference.  They forget them again anyway.  Now let us move up higher, in fact, very high.  Let us approach the real thing.

Introduction to H.E. the Viceroy of India, K.C.B., K.C.S.I., S.O.S.

The most exalted form of introduction is seen in the presentation of Mr. Tomkins, American tourist, to H.E. the Viceroy of India.  An aide-de-camp in uniform at the foot of a grand staircase shouts, “Mr. Tomkins!” An aide-de-camp at the top (one minute later) calls “Mr. Thompson”; another aide, four feet further on, calls “Mr. Torps.”