'I have no choice.'
'I should wish him to bear one of my brother's names.'
'I have no knowledge of your brother's names.'
'Chillon is one.'
'Ah! Is it, should you think, suitable to our climate?'
'Another name of my brother's is John.'
'Bull.' The loutish derision passed her and rebounded on him. 'That would be quite at home.'
'You will allow one of your own names, my lord?'
'Oh, certainly, if you desire it, choose. There are four names you will find in a book of the Peerage or Directory or so. Up at the castle—or you might have written:—better than these questions on the public road. I don't demur. Let it be as you like.'
'I write empty letters to tell what I much want,' Carinthia said.