"You had better tell me her name, Julian."
"Why?" enquired Sir Julian childishly, and also disconcertingly.
"Why?" echoed his wife, momentarily nonplussed.
She looked at him for a moment with black-fringed, amber-coloured eyes.
"Why not?" she demanded at last.
"It would convey nothing more to you than to the rest of us."
"Oh, the perversity of man!" cried Lady Rossiter playfully. "Here am I backing up the great venture heart and soul, knowing every member of the staff individually and offering prizes to every class in every subject, and even putting all my savings into the concern—and then I'm not allowed to hear what the high and mighty directors are going to talk about! Really, Julian, you men are very childish sometimes."
"She is a Miss Marchrose."
"Marchrose!"
Sir Julian, perceiving recognition in the tone of the exclamation, and recollecting his own prediction that the name would convey nothing to his wife, looked annoyed.