“Mamise is an unusual name,” he remarked.
Marie Louise was pleasantly startled by the realization that his long silence had been devoted to her.
“Like it?” she asked.
“You bet.” The youthfulness of this embarrassed him and made her laugh. He grew solemn for about eleven hundred yards of road that went up and down and up and down in huge billows. Then he broke out again:
“It’s an unusual name.”
She laughed patiently. “So I’ve heard.”
The road shot up a swirling hill into an old, cool grove.
“I only knew one other––er––Mamise.”
This sobered her. It was unpleasant not to be unique. The chill woods seemed to be rather glum about it, too. The road abandoned them and flung into a sun-bathed plain.