"
She had let several people talk to her that evening, without knowing
who they were, but this boy seemed to be somehow altogether different.
"My name is Terence," he said. "Now I know you are going to ask
'Terence what?' It's Terence nothing; I have no name at all except
Terence."
"I know a boy named Terence," Kathleen said, "and I don't like him a
bit."
"I hope that won't make any difference about your liking me," said the
boy.
"Oh, not at all," said Kathleen. "It isn't his name that I don't like;
it's himself. He is only just as old as I am, and he looks--" Kathleen
stopped, surprised at herself, for she had not thought of it before.
"He looks a little like these men here, who all seem to be so old;
and, besides, he isn't nice at all."
"Then let's not talk about him," said the boy. "Will you tell me what
your name is?"
"Oh, yes; didn't I tell you? My name is Kathleen O'Brien."
"And must I call you Kathleen or Miss O'Brien? You see you will have
to call me by my first name, because it is the only one I have, and so
I think you ought to let me call you by your first name.
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