"Well, you were only half wrong, anyway," she answered. "The first part of the name was right."
"Yes," he admitted. "But that didn't help me much. The last one didn't either for that matter. There are so many Adamses in the city."
"How do you know?" she challenged.
He grew red. "I—I looked in the directory," he confessed.
She thought it high time to change the subject.
"I suppose it will be quite a wrench to say good-bye to your people here," she remarked.
"I haven't any," replied Drew. "My father and my mother died when I was small. The only brother I have is out West, and I haven't seen him for years. I've been boarding since I came to the city, five years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said with ready sympathy. "I know something of how you feel, because I lost my own mother three years ago. I've been in boarding school most of the time since then. So I know what it is to be without a real home. Sometimes our only home was on shipboard."
"But it's always possible to make a real home," said Drew daringly. Then he checked himself and bit his lip. That troublesome tongue of his! When would he learn to control it?
She pretended not to have heard him.