He held out his hand; Eris laid hers in it.
“You needn’t tell me your name,” he said smilingly,—“unless you choose to.”
“Eris Odell.”
“Eris! Well, that’s rather classic, isn’t it? That’s an—unusual—name.... Eris. Suggests Mount Ida and golden apples, doesn’t it?—Or is it your stage name?”
Puzzled, smiling, he stood looking at her, still retaining her hand.
“No, it’s my name.”
“Well, then, my name is Barry Annan.... And I think it’s time we both got a little sleep....” He shook her slender hand formally, released it.
“Good-night, Eris,” he said. “Lock your door and go to sleep.”
“Good-night,” she replied in a tired, unsteady voice.