"Will you tell me your name before I go?"
"I will not." Her bright eyes and fair young face defied him.
"Very well; as soon as I learn it I shall be more generous—for I have something to tell you; and I'll do it, too!"
"Are you sure you will?" she asked, flushing up.
"Yes, I am sure."
"I may not care to hear what you have to say, Mr. Seabury."
They regarded one another intently, curiously. Presently her slender hand fell as by accident on the stem of her wine-glass; he lifted his glass: very, very slowly. She raised hers, looking at him over it.
"To—what I shall tell you—when I learn your name!" he said, deliberately.
Faint fire burned in her cheeks; her eyes fell, then were slowly raised to his; in silence, still looking at one another, they drank the toast.