Priscilla declared she had said nothing at all but what was quite diplomatic, in fact quite clever; indeed, she had been surprised at the way ideas had seemed to flow.

“So please,” she finished, “don’t look at me with such lamentable eyes.”

“Ma’am, did you not tell them our name is Schultz?”

“But so it is.”

“It is not, ma’am.  Our name is Neumann.”

Priscilla stared astonished.  “Neumann?” she said.  “Nonsense, Fritzi. 
Why should it be Neumann?  We’re Schultz.  I told these people we were. 
It’s all settled.”

“Settled, ma’am?  I told the woman here as well as the estate agent that you are my brother’s child and that we are Neumann.”

Priscilla was aghast.  Then she said severely, “It was your duty to ask me first.  What right have you to christen me?”

“I intended to discuss it during our walk to the village this afternoon.  I admit I forgot it.  On the other hand I could not suppose your Grand Ducal Highness, left for a moment unprotected, would inform two strange gentlemen that our name was Schultz.”

“You should certainly have asked me first,” repeated Priscilla with knitted brows.  “Why should I have to be Neumann?”

“I might inquire with equal reason why I should have to be Schultz,” retorted Fritzing.

“But why Neumann?” persisted Priscilla, greatly upset.

“Ma’am, why not?” said Fritzing, still more upset.  Then he added, “Your Grand Ducal Highness might have known that at the agent’s I would be obliged to give some name.”

“I didn’t think any more than you did,” said Priscilla stopping in front of the gate as a sign he was to open it for her.  He did, and they walked through the garden and into the house in silence.  Then she went into the parlour and dropped into a horsehair armchair, and leaning her head against its prickliness she sighed a doleful sigh.

“Shall I send Annalise to you, ma’am?” asked Fritzing, standing in the doorway.

“What can we do?” asked Priscilla, her eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes in earnest thought.  “Come in, Fritzi, and shut the door,” she added.  “You don’t behave a bit like an uncle.”  Then an idea struck her, and looking up at him with sudden gaiety she said, “Can’t we have a hyphen?”

“A hyphen?”

“Yes, and be Neumann-Schultz?”

“Certainly we can,” said Fritzing, his face clearing; how muddled he must be getting not to have thought of it himself!  “I will cause cards to be printed at once, and we will be Neumann-Schultz.  Ma’am, your woman’s wit—­”

“Fritzi, you’re deteriorating—­you never flattered me at Kunitz.  Let us have tea.  I invite you to tea with me.  If you’ll order it, I’ll pour it out for you and practice being a niece.”