As they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She felt for a moment the
firm clasp of his fingers. There was a new light in his eyes, a glow of
enthusiasm.

"I have it!" he cried. "You have brought it to me--the idea. I have been
wanting a name for _her_--the woman in my new book. She is to be a
tremendous surprise. I haven't found a name, until now--one that fits. I
shall call her Ladygray!"

He felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden startled look that
shot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of the colour from her cheeks. He drew
away his hand at the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she was
breathing--that the fingers of her white hands were clasped tensely.

"You object," he said.

"Not enough to keep you from using it," she replied in a low voice. "I owe
you a great deal." He noted, too, how quickly she had recovered herself.
Her head was a little higher. She looked toward the tents. "You were not
mistaken," she added. "I smell new-made bread!"

"And I shall emphasize the first half of it--_Lady_gray," said John Aldous,
as if speaking to himself. "That diminutizes it, you might say--gives it
the touch of sentiment I want. You can imagine a lover saying 'Dear little
_Lady_gray, are you warm and comfy?' He wouldn't say Ladygray as if she
wore a coronet, would he?"

"Smell-o'-bread--fresh bread!" sniffed Joanne Gray, as if she had not heard
him. "It's making me hungry. Will you please hurry me to it, John Aldous?"