It aroused his indignation and his wits.

"I would first give my hero a distinguished name. No matter what
the heroine's name might be--pretty or otherwise--I could easily
change it to his in the last chapter." She flushed beneath his
now bright, keen eyes and the ready, though unexpected retort.
Uncle Caspar placed his napkin to his lips and coughed. Aunt
Yvonne studiously inspected her bill of fare. "No matter what
you call a rose, it is always sweet," he added, meaningly.

At this she laughed good-naturedly. He marveled at her white
teeth and red lips. A rose, after all. Guggenslocker, rose;
rose, not Guggenslocker. No, no! A rose only! He fancied he
caught a sly look of triumph in her uncle's swift glance toward
her. But Uncle Caspar was not a rose--he was Guggenslocker.
Guggenslocker--butcher! Still, he did not look the part--no,
indeed. That extraordinary man a butcher, a gardener, a--and
Aunt Yvonne? Yet they were Guggenslockers.

"Here is the waiter," the girl observed, to his relief. "I am
famished after my pleasant drive. It was so bracing, was it not
Mr. Grenfall Lorry?"

"Give me a mountain ride always as an appetizer," he said,
obligingly, and so ended the jest about a name.

The orders for the dinner were given and the quartette sat back
in their chairs to await the coming of the soup. Grenfall was
still wondering how she had learned his name, and was on the
point of asking several times during the conventional discussion