I answered yes, on the chance. Frances regarded me oddly.
“I thought—I understood that your name was Kent, Mr. Knowles,” she said.
“It is.”
“Then why does Miss Cahoon always—”
Hephzy interrupted. “Oh, I always call him Hosy,” she explained. “It's a kind of pet name of mine. It's short for Hosea. His whole name is Hosea Kent Knowles, but 'most everybody but me does call him Kent. I don't think he likes Hosea very well.”
Our companion looked very much as if she did not wonder at my dislike. Her eyes twinkled.
“Hosea,” she repeated. “That is an odd name. The original Hosea was a prophet, wasn't he? Are you a prophet, Mr. Knowles?”
“Far from it,” I answered, with decision. If I had been a prophet I should have been forewarned and, consequently, forearmed.
She smiled and against my will I was forced to admit that her smile was attractive; she was prettier than ever when she smiled.
“I remember now,” she said; “all Americans have Scriptural names. I have read about them in books.”