“And even now,” she mused, “you don’t know my name. Do you want me to tell you?”
“Not until you are ready.”
“Then wait. It will all come in due form. Someone will say, ‘Mr. Orme, Miss——.’”
“The name doesn’t matter,” said Orme. “To me you will always be just—Girl.”
The joyous moments rushed by. She had crept close to him again, and with her head on his shoulder, was saying: “There is so much for us to tell each other.”
“There seems to be only one thing to say now.” He kissed her tenderly.
“Oh, but there is much more.”
“Where shall we begin?” asked Orme.
“Well, to be matter-of-fact, do you live in Chicago?”
“No, dear. I live in New York.”