But with the return of the family to Glasgow, the child lost the charm of the Inverkip environment. In Traquair House he received even from his father only the Campbell affection, which had no enthusiasms, no baby talk, no petting, no foolish admirations. It was almost impossible for the mother to accept this change of attitude with nonchalance, or even cheerfulness. She could not withstand the influence of the dull, gray house, and the toiling, moiling, money-grabbing city, though she felt intuitively that the influence of both was inimical to her domestic happiness. For the house was impregnated with the Campbell personality, so much so that the very apparatus of their daily life had become eloquent of the moods of those they ministered to; and Theodora often felt as if the sofas and chairs in their rooms resented her use of them.
A prepossession of this kind was an unhappy one, and easily affiliated itself with the spirit of the house, which was markedly a quarrelsome spirit. Nurtured and indulged for more than two generations, it had become an inflexible, almost an invincible one. All Theodora's smiling efforts, all her charms and entreaties had failed to conciliate, or even appease its grudging resentment. It was a piteous thing that the first trouble after her return to Glasgow, should be concerning the child. Robert had been pleased by the assurance of his friends in Inverkip that his son resembled him in an extraordinary manner. He was himself sure of this resemblance, though Theodora could only see "that difference in sameness" often enough pronounced between fathers and sons.
Mrs. Campbell scouted the idea. She said: "The child had not a single Campbell feature or trait. He did not even suck his tongue, a trick all the Campbell babies had, as McNab knew right well. And she understood there had not been a single Campbell in the room when he was born—an important and significant mistake that never could be rectified. She could only say, and she always would say, that the boy was Theodora's child."
"I hope he is," answered Robert, who was nettled by the criticism. "He cannot do better than take after his mother in every way."
"And I am fairly shocked, Robert," she continued, "that the child—who's ever it is—hasna yet been baptized. Seven weeks old and not baptized! I never heard the like. My children were covenanted Christians before they were two weeks old. It was my first thought for them."
"Well, mother, we wanted to be quite sure of the name. A boy's name means much to him when he becomes a man."
"There is but one name proper for the child, that is his grandfather's."
"Do you mean Traquair?" asked Robert.
"Yes, Traquair—a fine family name."
Theodora looked entreatingly at Robert, and he understood her dissent and shared it.