"William?"
"William," I repeated firmly. "What else would you call him?"
"I should have thought," said Delia coldly, "that it would have been plain, even to the meanest intelligence, that he was Archibald."
"On the contrary," I retorted, "no sentient being can gaze upon him without recognizing him as William."
At this moment the treasure in question, who had been making contented little purring noises near the fire, was apparently startled by a falling coal, for he raised his voice in a high note of appeal.
"Did a nasty man call him out of his name, then!" said Delia, snatching him up.
"If you're not careful," I reminded her, "William, will ruin your new blouse."
"Of course," said Delia, with an air of trying to be reasonable with an utterly unreasonable person, "there'd be no objection to his having a second name."
"None whatever. 'William Archibald' goes quite well."
"'Archibald William' goes better. And it's going to be that, or just plain 'Archibald.'" Delia added defiantly that she wasn't going to argue, because she wanted her tea, and so did he.