The long-forgotten name awoke memories of a pasty-faced boy peppered with freckles, who had always called him "Snowball." He bowed solemnly. For a moment it deprived the situation of all its sentiment to hear that she had married Reggy Harris.
"Things happen queerly, don't they?" she said with a short laugh. "I married, and I left Brighton for good—and I sit telling you about it when I am in Regency Square all over again. I never thought I should come back any more, excepting on a visit. Of course I used to come to see mother."
"I hope your mother is well?" he said.
"Yes," she answered, "thank you.... It was mother who was certain from the first that the singer we read about must be you. I had forgotten you were called 'Elisha,' but she was sure you were; and the 'Elisha' settled it. We did stare!"
"I thought you would. But I'm not the only 'Elisha' where I come from, by a long chalk. Biblical names are very common among us; we like them. In Savannah, where I was born, I daresay you'd find a good many 'Elishas'—and as to 'Lees,' they're as plentiful as pins. You stared, eh? It seemed wonderful?"
"Well, yes, it did. But your parents were—were musical, too, weren't they?"
"My parents came over here as ban joists when I was a kiddy. They played jolly well."
"Are they living?"
He shook his head. "I am quite alone in the world," he said theatrically. "They were spared to see me famous, though; I'm glad of that."
"They must have been ever so proud of you."