"Of course. His being baptized now will make no difference to that. I think it must be done, my dear."
"In this room, then; by my bedside. I should like to see it."
"You shall. And now, what name?"
Adela lay back on the pillow, her cheeks slightly flushed with their delicate pink, fresh and pure as the hue of a seashell, her eyes cast upwards in thought.
"I should like it to have papa's name—George."
"George Frederick?"
"Not Frederick: I don't care about the name. George—would you like also your own name—Francis?" she broke off to ask. "George Francis?"
"Would you care to have it Francis?" he returned, his tone one of emotion, bending over her until his face nearly touched hers.
She heard the tone, she saw the wet eyelashes shading the wonderful grey eyes, with their yearning, earnest expression. It flashed into her mind to remember how few men were his equals, in looks, in worth, in loving indulgence to a rebellious wife. Adela was not quite proof against her better nature. She was not always hard.
"Yes, I should; and he has your eyes," she whispered softly, in answer to the question, her own sweet eyes lifted to her husband's.