Then Theodora left the room. She felt that the argument had gone as far as it was likely to be reasonable. In a short time Robert followed her and his face wore a look of vexation and perplexity.
"Have you decided on the name yet, Robert?" she asked.
"No."
"Why not call him after yourself?"
"Because in the course of time I should likely be compelled to write 'senior' after my own name. I do not care to look forward to that. Mother has set her mind on Traquair."
"It is the only Scotch name I object to. It has not one noble association. If you say Robert, you think of Robert Bruce, and Robert Burns, and a score of other great men. Call him Donald, or Dugald, or Duncan, or Angus, or Hector, or Alexander, they are all Christian names and will not subject the little lad when he goes among the boys and men, to mockery. Traquair will give them two objectionable nicknames—Tray, which is a dog's name, and Quair will easily slip into queer. Think of it—Tray Campbell, or Queer Campbell. It will not do, Robert."
"No. Traquair will not do. It will not do."
"There is one good reason for not calling the child Robert, not the 'senior' reason at all. I want you to keep and make famous your own name. You are really a good natural orator. I noticed your speech, and its delivery at Dr. Robertson's dinner, when we were at Inverkip. It was the best speech made. It was finely delivered. You are rich and going to be richer; why not cultivate your gift, and run for Parliament? No one can put political views into a more sensible and eloquent speech than Robert Campbell."
"I think you overrate my abilities, Dora," replied Robert, but he spoke with a kind of musing satisfaction.
"No, you could become a good speaker, and if you wish, I am sure you may write M. P. after your name. Why not decide on David? You love your big brother yet. You never speak of him without emotion. He will come back to you, I am sure. And how proud you will be to say: 'I never forgot you, David. I called my first-born son after you.'"