Well, as I say, I was attached to my name.  But after listening to Celia for five minutes I realized that there had been some horrible mistake.  People weren’t called that.

“Just wait a moment,” I said to her rather anxiously, and picked up the telephone book.  To my great relief I found that Celia was right.  There was a person of that name living at my address.

“You’re quite right,” I said.  “Go on.”

“I wish I had married somebody called Jones,” said Celia, looking up at me rather reproachfully.  “No, no, not Jones,” she added hastily down the telephone, and once more she repeated the unhappy name.

“It isn’t my fault,” I protested.  “You did have a choice; I had none.  Try spelling it.  It spells all right.”

Celia tried spelling it.

“I’m going to spell it,” she announced very distinctly down the telephone.  “Are you ready? ...  M ...  No, M.  M for mother.”

That gave me an idea.

“Come away,” I said, seizing the telephone; “leave it to me.  Now, then,” I called to the porter.  “Never mind about the name.  Just tell him to ring up his sister.”  And I looked at Celia triumphantly.

“Ask him to ring up his mother,” said the porter.  “Very well, sir.”

“No, not the mother.  That was something else.  Forget all about that mother.  He’s to ring up his sister ... sister ...  SISTER.”

“You’ll have to spell it,” said Celia.

“I’m going to spell it,” I shouted.  “Are you ready? ... S for—­for sister.”

“Now you’re going to muddle him,” murmured Celia.

“S for sister; have you got that? ...  No, sister, idiot.  I for idiot,” I added quickly.  “S for sister—­this is another sister, of course.  T for two.  Got that?  No, two.  Two anything—­two more sisters, if you like.  E for—­E for—­” I turned helplessly to Celia:  “quick, a word to begin with E!  I’ve got him moving now.  E for—­quick, before his tympanum runs down.”

“Er—­er—­” Desperately she tried to think.

“E for er,” I shouted.  “That’ll be another sister, I expect ...  Celia, I believe we ought to spell it with an ‘H.’  Can’t you think of a better word?”

“Enny,” said Celia, having quite lost her nerve by this time.

“E for enny,” I shouted.  “Any anything.  Any of the sisters I’ve been telling you about.  R for—­quick, Celia!”

“Rose,” she said hastily.

“R for Rose,” I shouted.  “Rose the flower—­or the sister if you like.  There you are, that’s the whole word.  Now then, I’ll just spell it to you over again....  Celia, I want another word for E. That last was a bad one.”

“Edith?”

“Good.”

I took a deep breath and began.

“S for sister.  I for Isabel—­Isabel is the name of the sister.  S for another sister—­I’ll tell you her name directly.  T for two sisters, these two that we’re talking about.  E for Edith, that’s the second sister whose name I was going to tell you.  R for Rose.  Perhaps I ought to explain Rose.  She was the sister whom these two sisters were sisters of.  Got that?” I turned to Celia.  “I’m going to get the sister idea into his head if I die for it.”