“It is no secret at all,” said Miss Fosbrook, laughing. “My name is Christabel Angela.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes, and said it by syllables. “Christabel Angela! that’s a prettier name than Ida. Does it make you very glad to have it?”
“I like it for some reasons,” said Miss Fosbrook, smiling.
“Oh, tell me!” cried Bessie. “Mamma always says we should not be a bit happier if our names were pretty ones; but I don’t know, I feel as if one would; only the others like to make things plainer and uglier than they are.”
“I never could call your name ugly; it is such a dignified, old, respectable name.”
“Yes; but they call me Betty!”
“And they call me Bell, and sometimes Jelly-bag and Currant-jelly,” said Miss Fosbrook, laughing and sighing, for she would have liked to have heard those funny names again.
“Then it is no good to you!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“I don’t know that we talk of good in such a matter. I like my name because of the reason it was given to me.”
“Oh, why?” eagerly asked the little girl.