"All save one thing," Marjorie said.

"Goodness, what have I forgotten?"

"Only the lady's name."

"You are right. She must have a name of course, something nice and
romantic--Gladys something, eh?"

Marjorie shook her head.

"Clementine," suggested Hugh. "No, won't do, eh? Now you put your
thinking cap on and invent a name, something romantic and pretty. Let's
hear from you, Marjorie."

"Do you like--Joan Meredyth?" she said.

"Splendid! What a clever little brain!" He shut his eyes. "I married
Miss Joan Meredyth on the first of June, or was it the second, in the
year nineteen hundred and eighteen? We lived a cat-and-dog existence,
and parted with mutual recriminations, since when I have not seen her!
Marjorie, do you think she will swallow it?"

"If you tell her; but, Hugh, will you--will you?"

"Little girl, is it going to help you?"

"You know it is!" she whispered.

"Then I shall tell her!"