"At any rate," said Harry, "it's her name."
"Well, but hasn't she some pet name—something more feminine, such as 'Minnie,' for instance, or 'Nellie,' or 'Kittie,' or 'Florrie,' or something of that sort?"
"No; her only name is Sydney Talbot. You see, Sydney is a family name, and had to be perpetuated. She had no brothers, and so it was given to her. Her father's name was also Sydney Talbot, and her grandfather's, and—"
"And her great-grandfather's," chimed in Katie, "and so on up to Noah; but his name, at any rate, was not Sydney Talbot. Now this is a very romantic beginning, so go on. I will only remark that I intend to be great friends with your wife some day, and that I've made up my mind to call her 'Syddie.' She is actually pining for a pet name. But what do you call her?"
"I? Oh, I call her Miss Talbot."
"Miss! You call her Miss—Talbot? What a horrible idea! And you pretend to love her!" cried Katie, reproachfully.
"Well—but, you know, Sydney is too stiff."
"Then why not invent a name? Call her 'Poppet,' or 'Topsy,' or 'Fifine,' or 'Rosie,' or 'Gracie.' Why, I could supply you with fifty or sixty names on the spot. But this is all idle trifling. Go on and tell me more. Give a full and complete account of yourself and your 'own one.'"
"Well, you know, I'm doing business in Barcelona, and we were engaged to be married last year."
"Did you see her last in Barcelona?"