Scrymgeour?"

"You know what I mean. I mean, about making such a most ghastly ass of
myself this morning. I... I never dreamed you understood English."

"Why, I didn't object. I thought you were very nice and complimentary.
Of course, I don't know how many girls you've seen in your life, but..."

"No, I say, don't! It makes me feel such a chump."

"And I'm sorry about my mouth. It is wide. But I know you're a
fair-minded man and realize that it isn't my fault."

"Don't rub it in," pleaded the young man. "As a matter of fact, if you
want to know, I think your mouth is absolutely perfect. I think," he
proceeded, a little feverishly, "that you are the most indescribable
topper that ever..."

"You were going to tell me about Scrymgeour," said Sally.

The young man blinked as if he had collided with some hard object while
sleep-walking. Eloquence had carried him away.

"Scrymgeour?" he said. "Oh, that would bore you."

"Don't be silly," said Sally reprovingly. "Can't you realize that we're
practically castaways on a desert island? There's nothing to do till
to-morrow but talk about ourselves. I want to hear all about you,
and then I'll tell you all about myself. If you feel diffident about
starting the revelations, I'll begin. Better start with names. Mine is
Sally Nicholas. What's yours?"

"Mine? Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean."

"I thought you would. I put it as clearly as I could. Well, what is it?"

"Kemp."

"And the first name?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," said the young man, "I've always rather
hushed up my first name, because when I was christened they worked a
low-down trick on me!"

"You can't shock me," said Sally, encouragingly. "My father's name was
Ezekiel, and I've a brother who was christened Fillmore."

Mr. Kemp brightened. "Well, mine isn't as bad as that... No, I don't
mean that," he broke off apologetically. "Both awfully jolly names, of
course..."

"Get on," said Sally.

"Well, they called me Lancelot. And, of course, the thing is that I
don't look like a Lancelot and never shall. My pals," he added in a more
cheerful strain, "call me Ginger."

"I don't blame them," said Sally.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind thinking of me as Ginger?'' suggested the
young man diffidently.

"Certainly."

"That's awfully good of you."

"Not at all."

Jules stirred in his sleep and grunted. No other sound came to disturb
the stillness of the night.

"You were going to tell me about yourself