He was sensible enough to realize that he would be in for some confusion in trying to disassociate the phantom from the quick.
Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow, immature.

But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living drama; and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would laugh when he was happy and when he was hurt.

A bull's-eye--bang, like that! For the only breed worth its salt was the kind that laughed when happy and when hurt.
The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, would not have stirred him in the least.

And immediately upon the heels of this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store for himself.
Was it the phantom or Kitty?
He jumped to another angle to escape the impasse.

Kitty's coming to him in that fashion raised an unpalatable suggestion.