"And," he begged, "you'll let what I've said to you be our secret? Promise."
"Very well."
"You sweetest, kindest, loveliest——"
"Please don't," she entreated.
"And I may know your Christian name?" he persisted, "I've thought of everything in the world, and nothing's good enough to fit you."
"Oh, how silly!" Her eyes gleamed with laughter. "It is Lynette."
He caught at it with rapture. "Perfect! The last touch.... The scent of the rose, or say the dewdrop on it. By George, I'm in earnest!"
He had spoken incautiously loud. A grating voice addressing him pulled his head round.
"Lord Beauvayse ..."
"Did you speak to me, Doctor? As I was saying, Miss Mildare," he went on, continuing the blameless conversation, "dust-storms and flies are the twin curses of South Africa."