crouching beneath a tarpaulin on a rocky ledge, and surrounded by
bloodthirsty savages intent on their destruction. Such incidents
require the setting of convention, the conservatory, with its wealth of
flowers and plants, a summer wood, a Chippendale drawing-room. And yet,
God wot, men and women have loved each other in this grey old world
without stopping to consider the appropriateness of place and season.

After a delicious pause Iris began again----

"Robert--I must call you Robert now--there, there, please let me get a
word in even edgeways--well then, Robert dear, I do not care much what
happens now. I suppose it was very wicked and foolish of me to speak as
I did before--before you called me Iris. Now tell me at once. Why did
you call me Iris?"

"You must propound that riddle to your godfather."

"No wriggling, please. Why did you do it?"

"Because I could not help myself. It slid out unawares."

"How long have you thought of me only as Iris, your Iris?"

"Ever since I first understood that somewhere in the wide world was a
dear woman to love me and be loved."

"But at one time you thought her name was Elizabeth?"

"A delusion, a mirage! That is why those who christened you had the
wisdom of the gods."