Mr. Bannockburn was attempting to eat a cake, but at these words he gave it up. He struck a match angrily and lit a cigar—a Havana. "Well, what is it you want to show me?" he asked.
"The cards," she said. "They look splendid. Here," and she handed a visiting-card across the table and drew his attention to the delicate copper-plate in which their new name had been inscribed: "Mrs. Julius Bannockburn."
Mr. Bannockburn scowled afresh. "How many of these have you ordered?" he asked anxiously.
"Five hundred for each of us," she replied. "And they're done. They all came this morning."
Mr. Bannockburn groaned again. "What ridiculous haste!" he said. "Where was all the hurry?"
Mrs. Bannockburn laughed. "Well, I must say!" she exclaimed. "You to complain of things being done quickly! I've done all you told me," she continued. "Everything. I sent a notice to the Post Office about the telephone directory, telling them to alter the name. I sent to Kelly's about the London Directory. I told all the tradespeople. I got the cards. I even went further and ordered a few silver labels for your walking-sticks and umbrellas. I thought you would like that."
Mr. Bannockburn puffed at his cigar and said nothing.
"Aren't I a good head clerk?" she went on. "But, after all, when one does change one's name it is wise to go right through with it, isn't it?"
"Yes," said her husband ominously, "when one does change one's name."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Bannockburn asked sharply. "Has anything gone wrong?"