Abbott was not only astonished, but pained. Suddenly he had lost "Nobody's little girl", to be confronted by an elfish spirit of mischief. He asked with constraint, "Did this critical attitude make you laugh out, in the tent?"
"I wouldn't tell you why I laughed," Fran declared, "for a thousand dollars. And I've seen more than that in my day."
They walked on. He was silent, she impenetrable. At last she said, in a changed voice, "My name's Fran. What's yours?"
He laughed boyishly. "Mine's Abbott."
His manner made her laugh sympathetically. It was just the manner she liked best—gay, frank, and a little mischievous. "Abbott?" she repeated; "well—is that all?"
"Ashton is the balance; Abbott Ashton. And yours?"
"The rest of mine is Nonpareil—funny name, isn't it!—Fran Nonpareil. It means Fran, the small type; or Fran who's unlike everybody else; or—Oh, there are lots of meanings to me. Some find one, some another, some never understand."
It was because Abbott Ashton was touched, that he spoke lightly:
"What a very young Nonpareil to be wandering about the world, all by yourself!"
She was grateful for his raillery. "How young do you think?"