"I shall always call you Jack, then, unless when people like Mrs. Cassilis are present."
"And what am I to call you?"
"My name is Phillis, you know." But she knew, because her French maid had told her, that some girls have names of endearment, and she hesitated a little, in hope that Jack would find one for her.
He did. She looked him so frankly and freely in the face that he took courage, and said with a bold heart:
"Phillis is a very sweet name. You know the song, 'Phillis is my only joy?' I ought to call you Miranda, the Princess of the Enchanted Island. But it would be prettier to call you Phil."
"Phil!" Her lips parted in a smile of themselves as she shaped the name. It is a name which admits of expression. You may lengthen it out if you like; you may shorten it you like. "Phil! That is very pretty. No one ever called me Phil before."
"And we will be great friends, shall we not?"
"Yes, great friends. I have never had a friend at all."
"Let us shake hands over our promise. Phil, say, 'Jack Dunquerque, I will try to like you, and I will be your friend.'"
"Jack Dunquerque," she placed her hands, both of them, in his and began to repeat, looking in his face quite earnestly and solemnly, "I will try—that is nonsense, because I do like you very much already; and I will always be your friend, if you will be mine and will let me."