in comparison with the flesh-pots of Egypt, or whether she thought of the rose, and philosophically asked with the poet, 'What's in a name?' lies hidden among the many mysteries of the housekeeper's room.
Now, during that half-hour when the fate of Glory hovered in the balance, I had mildly expostulated with Aunt Agatha.
'When the poor girl's name is Glory,' I had said, 'why on earth can't you call her Glory? She can't help her name being what it is.'
Well, I needn't tell you right here what Aunt Agatha replied, first upon the subject of the presumption of nieces, then upon the presumption of the lower classes, and finally upon the criminal idiotcy of godfathers and godmothers in general. Anyway, the consequence of my defence of Glory was this. Aunt Agatha happened to be present a short time later when I was engaging Ermyntrude. We had fixed up everything most satisfactorily, and she was just leaving the room when I thought to ask her what her Christian name was.
'Ermyntrude, miss,' she had replied in her prim, demure way.
I admit I got a bit of a shock. She hadn't just exactly prepared one for a name like that.
Aunt Agatha was looking at me with a malicious sort of smile, and her mouth pursed up.
'All right, Ermyntrude,' I had said, and Ermyntrude had demurely retired.
'You don't mean to say,' burst out Aunt Agatha as soon as the door was closed, 'that you are going
