"It is to you—to you I would tell his name," sobs she, as he returns slowly, unwillingly, but surely, to her. "To you alone."
"To me! Go on," says Curzon; "let me hear it. What is the name of this man you want to marry?"
"Thaddeus Curzon!" says she, covering her face with her hands, and, indeed, it is only when she feels his arms round her, and his heart beating against hers, that she so far recovers herself as to be able to add, "And a hideous name it is, too!"
But this last little firework does no harm. Curzon is too ecstatically happy to take notice of her small impertinence.
THE END.
Obvious typographical errors silently corrected by the transcriber: