"You weave an attractive packet of lies, Miss," the man said at last.
"You call me a liar?"
"A storyteller, perhaps. But it makes no difference to me. I'm happy to stomach the whole of it—drunken brother, ailing mother, destitute siblings. Certainly it is more than enough to explain your hasty engagement. And far more entertaining than whatever true reason there must be."
"Why should I need a reason to give my consent to any reasonable man?" she asked. "Just who are you to be my judge?"
"Ah, so now you are interested in me, are you? Perhaps I wish to keep my identity secret just as much as you do."
"It makes no matter to me, I assure you. I simply wondered, since you seem to think you are somebody. Are you? Do you have a name?"
"John," he said, after a pause. "That is my name."
"Ah, well that answers everything," she declared.
He gave her his first name and nothing more? Now what on earth was she supposed to do with that? It wasn't as if she'd go around calling him by it. Certainly not! And John was quite an ordinary name. He could still be anyone and she'd never guess it.
"Just John? I'm surprised. You seem to think of yourself overly high, Just John. Isn't there a Mister or a Sir with that? How should I call you?"
Now he turned just enough to meet her eyes with his own. They were a deep, deep blue that hinted at night time. "I am pleased to know you wish to call me at all."
