"Call me 'Julia,' won't you?"
"All right, I will." (But he didn't.) "I think you are a good sport."
"Oh, Mr.—"
"Call me 'Evan,' will you?"
"What a nice name," she smiled; "it's odd. All right, Evan, but you mustn't call me a 'sport.'"
He had thought it was going to be considerable of a compliment.
"You know what I mean, Miss—Julia!"
"Oh, don't call me 'Miss Julia,'" she laughed; "that sounds like a maiden aunt."
He colored; his breaks were coming too thickly.
They wandered down the lawn-walk to the gate, and there Nelson bade her good-night by shaking hands. He knew she would be in the bank next day, but handshakes are always in order after nine o'clock p.m.