"Oh, I suppose so," she said, with affected carelessness—her eyes still bent on the seaweed.
"Do you know," said he, again, "that I haven't the least idea what your name is!"
"My name? Oh, my name is Madge," she answered.
"Madge?" said he. "I wonder if you make the capital M this way?" and therewith he traced on the sand an ornamental M in the manner of the last century.
"No, I don't," she said, "but it is very pretty. How do you write the rest?"
Thus encouraged, he made bold to add the remaining letters, and seemed rather to admire his handiwork when it was done.
"By the way," she said, "I don't know your Christian name either!"
"Hubert."
"Can you write that in the same fashion?" she suggested, with a simple ingenuousness.
So, grown still bolder, he laboriously inscribed his name immediately underneath her own. But that was not all. When he had ended he drew a circle right round both names.