She laughed a very pretty musical little laugh at Smellie’s elaborate assumption of mock gallantry and his bungling efforts to pronounce the name.
“Lubem-ba-bemba,” she corrected him; and this time the gallant second lieutenant managed to stumble through it correctly, at which there was more laughter and rejoicing on the lady’s part. Then I was called upon to repeat the name, which, having paid the most praiseworthy attention whilst Smellie was receiving his lesson, I managed to do very fairly.
Then, flushed with her success, Miss Lubembabemba made a further attempt at conversation. Pointing to herself and repeating her name, she next pointed to Smellie and asked:
“Ingeya?”
Her meaning was so evident that Smellie answered at once, with another elaborate bow:
“Harold Smellie; at your service.”
“Halold-smellie-at-o-serveece!” she repeated with wide-opened eyes of wonder at what she doubtless thought a very extraordinary name.
We both burst involuntarily into a laugh at this really clever first attempt to reproduce the second lieutenant’s polite speech; at which she first looked decidedly disconcerted, but immediately afterwards joined heartily in the laugh against herself.
“No, no, no,” said Smellie, “that won’t do; you haven’t got it quite right Harold; Harold.”
“Halold?” she repeated. And after two or three attempts to put her right—attempts which failed from her evident inability to pronounce the “r”—Smellie was obliged to rest content with being henceforward called “Halold.”