I denied this indignantly, partly because it was not true, and partly, I am afraid, with feminine guile, to divert him. We fell for a moment almost into the oldtime boy-and-girl tone of long ago, and only baby in my arms reminded us of what had come between.
"Well," I said at last, "it is evident that you are not worthy to give this nice little, dear little, superfine little girl a name; so I shall do it myself. I shall call her Thomasine."
"What an outlandish name!"
"It is your own, so you needn't abuse it. Do you agree?"
"I don't see how I can help myself, for you can call her anything you like."
"Of course I shall," I told him; "but I thought you should be consulted."
He shrugged his shoulders with a laugh.
"Having made up your mind," he said, "you ask my advice."
"I shouldn't think of consulting you till I had made up my mind," was my retort. "Now I want you to give her her name."
"Give it to her how?"