stopped in amazement.

"Why not?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"Nobody else does. I was never called that in India. It makes me feel
lonely, and a stranger here."

"But," Nanny's voice was colorless and almost dreary, even though a
wicked little gleam shot into her eyes, "what in the world shall I call
you? I can't call you--_John_. And 'parson' always did seem to me
rather coarse and disrespectful."

He had stopped when she did and now was looking straight down into her
eyes. Before the hurt and surprise and bewilderment in his face the
wicked little gleam retreated and a deep pink began to flush Nanny's
cheeks. The suspicion crossed her mind that this tall young man from
India with the unconquered eyes and the directness of a child might be
a rather difficult person to deal with.

He just stood there and looked at her and said never a word. Then he
quietly turned and walked on up the road with her.

For the first time in her life Nanny felt queer in the company of a
man, queer and puzzled and almost uncomfortable. She was not a flirt
and her remark was commonplace and trivial. Yet this new chap was
taking it seriously and making her feel insincere and trifling. She
told herself that she was not going to like him and kept her eyes
studiously on the road and wayside flowers.

They mounted the front steps in silence but before he opened the door