“Perhaps. But when shall that wonderful clambake be?”
“That,” I said, “is in the future. There are preparations. And besides, I would have it to look forward to. And how am I to let you know?”
“Why,” she said, “that is a problem. Perhaps—you might leave your invitation under that great stone.”
“And how should I know”—
“Why, again,” she said, “one might find something under the stone if he but looked.”
And she was silent for some while.
“Fisherman,” she said suddenly, “what is your name?”
“Thomas,” I answered; “and what is yours?”
She started, and for an instant she was angry. Then she laughed again, adorably, and blushed. “My name is Eve,” she said.
“Truly,” I said, “I should have known. And I was wrong, for mine is Adam.”