"And what's your name?" Jasmine asked.
"Harry."
She felt like somebody who had been offered as a present an object in which nothing but politeness had led her to express an interest.
"I meant your other name," she said quickly, rejecting as it were the offer of the more intimate first name.
"Vibart. My uncle is Sir John Vibart."
"Of course, how stupid of me," Jasmine murmured with a blush. "My name's Grant, of course," she hastened to add.
"Sir Hector Grant," the young man went on musingly. "Isn't he some kind of a doctor?"
"A nerve specialist," said Jasmine.
"I know," said the young man in accents that combined wisdom with sympathy.
The discovery of the baronets had removed the last trace of awkwardness which, easy though his manners were, was more perceptible in Mr. Vibart than in Jasmine, who in Sirene had never had much impressed upon her the sacred character of the introduction.