“Tell me something,” she said presently. “Something I have not asked you, but have wanted to know.”
“Yes, Paula. What is it?”
He wondered just how far back in his life history that question was going to search. She made herself comfortable in his arms. Then she asked her question:
“Have you a name, too?”
“What!” he replied, taken aback. “Don’t you even know my name?”
“No,” sighed Paula, the sigh bespeaking a vast and somewhat sleepy content. “What is it?”
“It is John Sheldon,” he told her.
“Then—some day—I will be Paula John Sheldon?”
“Just as soon,” cried John Sheldon, “as you and I can get to the nearest priest on the Little Smoky! And we start in the morning!”