"I? I've known him and his name all his life."
"And it isn't Daddleskink?"
The learned archæologist lapsed against the rail and gave way to wild mirth. "Wh—where on earth d-d-did you gu-gu-get such a notion?" he quavered, when he could speak.
"He told me, himself."
"I? Never!" The Tyro's face was as that of a babe for innocence.
"You—didn't—tell—me—your—name—was—Daddleskink?"
"Certainly not. I simply asked if you didn't think it a misfortune to be named Daddleskink, and you jumped to the conclusion that it was my name and my misfortune."
"Perhaps you didn't tell me, either, that your friends called you 'Smith,'" she said ominously.
"So they do."
"Why should they call you 'Smith' if your name isn't Daddleskink?" she demanded, with an effect of unanswerable logic.