“Mine? Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean.”
“I thought you would. I put it as clearly as I could. Well, what is it?”
“Kemp.”
“And the first name?”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” said the young man, “I've always rather hushed up my first name, because when I was christened they worked a low-down trick on me!”
“You can't shock me,” said Sally, encouragingly. “My father's name was Ezekiel, and I've a brother who was christened Fillmore.”
Mr. Kemp brightened. “Well, mine isn't as bad as that... No, I don't mean that,” he broke off apologetically. “Both awfully jolly names, of course...”
“Get on,” said Sally.
“Well, they called me Lancelot. And, of course, the thing is that I don't look like a Lancelot and never shall. My pals,” he added in a more cheerful strain, “call me Ginger.”
“I don't blame them,” said Sally.