“That is the last time you will use that name, Maria,” he exclaimed.
The diminutive little woman was startled by his language and the sharp tone in which the words were uttered. She said nothing, but acted as though she had received a blow.
“Yes, Maria, I have decided to change my name. My old skin-flint of an Uncle Benjamin, for whom I was named, left me nothing. I have honoured his memory for thirty years, but in future I propose to be known as B. Gorham Potts and to sign my name in that way.”
The little woman took in the situation. “Yes, Gorham,” she exclaimed, timidly.
“Don’t you think that’s an improvement?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” and then with that delightful British unconsciousness of her own joke, she exclaimed: “Let it be Gorham.”
But to return to that “that.”
Mr. Potts repeated his question in a more decisive manner. “Do you see that ‘that’?”
The young lady addressed tossed her head and pouted perceptibly. She was a pretty little brunette. Proofreaders are made responsible for so many errors perpetrated by others, as well as for their own shortcomings, that they are inclined to tergiversation when matters are brought to them for correction. She shut one eye and looked closely at the offending word with the other.
At last she said: “There is one ‘that,’ but I am unable to see the second ‘that’ to which you refer.”