"No, I think not."
"He's very popular."
"I know; but the music-hall? No," said Mrs. Blumenbach, taking up a pen, "let it be Macdonald.'" She traced the name. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed suddenly, dropping the pen and pushing away the paper with a gesture of finality, "of course it can't be that."
"Why ever not?" Mr. Blumenbach insisted.
"Fancy you not knowing!" Mrs. Blumenbach replied. "You of all people! Why, think of the linen and the silver—all the monograms. Everything would have to be marked afresh. It must begin with B, of course."
"Of course," said Mr. Blumenbach, mopping his brow as the terrible truth broke on him, "of course! What an idiot I have been! Of course it must begin with B. The expense!"
"But fancy you not thinking of that!" Mrs. Blumenbach insisted.
"Yes, fancy. It's worry over the war. I'm not myself."
"Poor dear! You can't be," said his wife. "Well, what shall we do now?"
"It's all right," said Mr. Blumenbach. "I'll go to the British Museum to look out the B's in the Edinburgh Directory."