She felt like somebody who had been offered as a present an object in which nothing but politeness had led her to express an interest.
"I meant your other name," she said quickly, rejecting as it were the offer of the more intimate first name.
"Of course, how stupid of me," Jasmine murmured with a blush. "My name's Grant, of course," she hastened to add.
"Sir Hector Grant," the young man went on musingly. "Isn't he some kind of a doctor?"
"I know," said the young man in accents that combined wisdom with sympathy.
The discovery of the baronets had removed the last trace of awkwardness which, easy though his manners were, was more perceptible in Mr. Vibart than in Jasmine, who in Sirene had never had much impressed upon her the sacred character of the introduction.
"I shall come and call on you at Spaborough," he vowed.
"Of course," she agreed; people called with much less excuse than this in Sirene.
She clapped her hands with such spontaneous pleasure of anticipation that Mr. Vibart remarked how easy it was to see that she had lived abroad. But almost before the echo of her pleasure had died away her eyes had filled with tears, for she was thinking how heartless it was of her to rejoice at the prospect of sailing when it was sailing that had caused her father's death. Anxious not to hurt Mr. Vibart's feelings, Jasmine began to explain breathlessly why she was looking so sad. The young man was silent for a minute when she stopped; then, weighing his words in solemn deliberation, he said:
"And, of course, that's why you're wearing black."
"I've brought with me all that were left of father's pictures. For presents, you know." She sighed.
"I know," said the young man wisely. He had in his own valise a cigar-holder for Sir John Vibart, the expense of procuring which he hoped would be more than covered by a parting cheque.
"And I should like to show them to you," Jasmine went on. "Perhaps we could get one out and look at it in the train."
"Hadn't we better wait until I come and call?" he suggested. "It's not fair to look at things in the train. Trains wobble so, don't they?"
Conversation about Sholto Grant's pictures passed easily into conversation about Jasmine's mother, because nearly all the pictures had been of her.