He was in her room one dark afternoon, standing with his elbow on the
mantelpiece whilst he talked to her: a room of luxury and comfort it must
have been almost a pleasure to be ill in. Lady Hartledon had been allowed
to get up, and sit in an easy-chair: she seemed to be growing strong
rapidly; and the little red gentleman in the cradle, sleeping quietly,
was fifteen days old.

"About his name, Percival; what is it to be?" she asked. "Your own?"

"No, no, not mine," said he, quickly; "I never liked mine. Choose some
other, Maude."

"What do you wish it to be?"

"Anything."

The short answer did not please the young mother; neither did the dreamy
tone in which it was spoken. "Don't you care what it is?" she asked
rather plaintively.

"Not much, for myself. I wish it to be anything you shall choose."

"I thought perhaps you would have liked it named after your brother," she
said, very much offended on the baby's account.

"George?"

"George, no. I never knew George; I should not be likely to think of him.
Edward."

Lord Hartledon looked at the fire, absently pushing back his hair. "Yes,
let it be Edward. It will do as well as anything else."

"Good gracious, Percival, one would think you had been having babies all
your life!" she exclaimed resentfully. "'Do as well as anything else!' If
he were our tenth son, instead of our first, you could not treat it with
more indifference. I have done nothing but deliberate on the name since
he was born; and I don't believe you have once given it a thought."

Lord Hartledon turned his face upon her; and when illumined with a smile,
as now, it could be as bright as before care came to it. "I don't think
we men attach the importance to names in a general way that you do,
Maude. I shall like to have it Edward."

"Edward William Algernon--"

"No, no, no," as if the number alarmed him. "Pray don't have a string of
names: one's quite enough."

"Oh, very well," she returned, biting her lips. "William was your
father's name. Algernon is my eldest brother's: I supposed you might like
them. I thought," she added, after a pause, "we might ask Lord Kirton to
be its godfather."

"I have decided on the godfathers already. Thomas Carr will be one, and
I intend to be the other."

"Thomas Carr! A poor hard-working barrister, that not a soul knows, and
of no family or influence whatever, godfather to the future Lord
Hartledon!" uttered the offended mother.

"I wish it, Maude.