"You know I have urged it on you often enough," said Mrs. Blumenbach. "And not only have I thought it necessary, but my relatives have urged it too."
Mr. Blumenbach repressed a gesture of impatience. "I know, I know," he said. "Well, we must do it. The Times has a dozen notices of changed names every day."
"The question is what shall the new one be?" his wife replied. "We must remember it's not only for ourselves and the business, but it will be so much better for the boys, too, when they go to Eton. A good name—but what?"
"That's it," said Mr. Blumenbach. "That's the difficulty. Now I've got a little list here. I have been jotting down names that took my fancy for some time past. Of course there are many people who merely translate their German names, but I think we ought to go farther than that. We ought to be thorough while we are about it."
"Yes, and let us be very careful," said Mrs. Blumenbach. "It's a great responsibility—a critical moment. It's almost as critical as—for a woman—marriage. Let us take a really nice name."
"Of course," said her husband. "That goes without saying."
"Yes," she continued, "but a name that goes well with 'Sir' or 'Lady.' You never know, you know."
"I don't see, myself, that 'Sir Julius Blumenbach' would sound so bad," said her husband; "I've heard worse."
"But 'Sir Julius Kitchener,' for example, would sound better," said Mrs. Blumenbach.
Mr. Blumenbach started. "You don't really suggest—" he began.