"Shaw," she answered, unwillingly.
"Is it spelled P-s-h-a-w?"
Laurie asked the question with polite interest. Then, realizing that in her preoccupation she did not follow this flight of his mercurial spirits, he sobered. "It's a perfectly good name," he conceded, "but there must be more of it. What's the rest?"
"He calls himself Herbert Ransome Shaw."
Laurie made a mental note of the name.
"I shall call him Bertie," he firmly announced, "to show you how unimportant he really is. By the way,"—a sudden memory struck him—"he told me your name—Doris."
He added the name so simply that he seemed to be calling her by it. A faint shadow of her elusive smile touched her lips.
"I like it—Doris," Laurie repeated, dreamily.
"I am so glad," she murmured.
He ignored the irony in her tone.