Her hands were clasped above her plate, the slender fingers
intertwined. I was looking at her so intently forgot to answer.

"I--I am glad I met you," she said frankly. "I--I think you have saved
me from myself."

"You asked me my name," I broke in eagerly. "Would you mind telling me
who you are?"

"I?" the clear cheeks reddening. "Why, I am only a fool."

"Then there is, at least, one tie between us. But, if we are to remain
friends I must know how to address you."

Her red lips parted doubtfully, her brow wrinkling.

"Yes, and we cannot afford to be conventional, can we? I am Viola
Bernard."

"I knew a girl once by that name; ages ago it seems now. A little
thing in short skirts, but I thought her rather nice. I believe we are
inclined to like names associated with pleasant memories. So I am glad
your name is Viola."

"It was my mother's name," she said quietly, her eyes downcast, "and I
am not sorry you like it." She stirred the coffee in her cup, watching
the bubbles rise to the surface. "I feel more confidence in you than I
did, because you have been so honest about yourself."

"I have told you the truth. I think I comprehend one trait, at least,