She had a little tremor in her voice as she spoke, which was, half alarm at this betrayal of herself, and half-suppressed laughter, though she dared not laugh.
“Oh, no; I have no Charles in my name. I wish I had. Shouldn’t I use it if I had the chance! You may laugh, Miss Summerhayes, but if you would only think how much nicer for a man it would be if his friends called him Charley instead of calling him Dolff!”
“What are you talking of, Dolff?”
Both Mrs. Harwood and Gussy had turned round at the sound of the name.
“Not much, mother. Miss Summerhayes thought I had Charles in my name, and I tell her I only wish I had.”
“How did Miss Summerhayes know?” said Mrs. Harwood, with a faint, scarcely perceptible change of tone. “I beg your pardon, Janet; but how did you know—about that name?”
“How could she know, mother, when it doesn’t exist! It was only a mistake she made.”
“How did you know, Janet, we had that name—in the family?”
Mrs. Harwood repeated the question with an insistence which was not like her usual easy-going way.
“I suppose I must have—seen it somewhere,” Janet said, her color rising.