He's walking out with me and not with you.

I like to see you squirm, you envious little cat." Jane was not a princess, she was merely a child of the people; but I am willing to eat my boots if it can be satisfactorily proved that there is a princess living on the face of the earth who would not be delighted at seeing another woman cast covetous eyes on the man she loved, and would not call her a cat (or its homonym) for doing so.
On this mild March afternoon Paul and Jane walked in the Euston Road, he in a loose blue serge suit, floppy black tie, low collar and black soft felt hat (this was in the last century, please remember--epoch almost romantic, so fast does time fly), she in neat black braided jacket and sailor hat.

They looked pathetically young.
"Where shall we go ?" asked Jane.
Paul, in no mood for high adventure, suggested Regent's Park.

"At least we can breathe there," said he.
Jane sniffed up the fresh spring air, unconscious of the London taint, and laughed.

"Why, what's the matter with the Euston Road ?" "It's vulgar," said Paul.