Was she merely carrying on a mild flirtation with him because of a sheer love of romance? He had heard of girls of her age, overfed upon romantic novels and filled with daydreams, starting out upon adventures similarly perilous. He looked into her eyes, and saw that they danced with tantalising merriment. She was making fun of him!
“My curiosity is certainly natural,” he said, a little severely, piqued by her superiority. “You have told me that you wish to speak with me in confidence. How can I repose equal confidence in you if you refuse me your name?”
“I do not ask you to repose confidence in me, Mr Rolfe,” was her quick response, opening her eyes widely. “I have brought you here to tell you something—something which I know will greatly interest you, more so, indeed, than the question of whom and what I am.”
“Then tell me your Christian name, so that I may address you by that.”
For a moment she did not reply. Her gaze was fixed straight before her. The wind stirred the dusty leaves above them, causing them to sigh slightly, while before them along the Quai a big cream-coloured automobile sped swiftly, trumpeting loudly.
At last she turned to him, and with a smile upon her fresh dimpled cheeks, she said:
“My name is a rather unusual one—Lorena.”
“Lorena!” he echoed. “What a very pretty name! Almost as charming as its owner!”
She moved with a gesture of mock impatience, declaring: “You are really too bad, Mr Rolfe! Why do you say these things?”
“I only speak the truth. I feel flattered that you should deign to take notice of such an unimportant person as myself.”