“I say, what woman’s name do you like best?”

“I don’t know any,” quoth Richard, indifferently.  “Why are you out so early?”

In answer to this, Ralph suggested that the name of Mary might be considered a pretty name.

Richard agreed that it might be; the housekeeper at Raynham, half the women cooks, and all the housemaids enjoyed that name; the name of Mary was equivalent for women at home.

“Yes, I know,” said Ralph.  “We have lots of Marys.  It’s so common.  Oh!  I don’t like Mary best.  What do you think?”

Richard thought it just like another.

“Do you know,” Ralph continued, throwing off the mask and plunging into the subject, “I’d do anything on earth for some names—­one or two.  It’s not Mary, nor Lucy.  Clarinda’s pretty, but it’s like a novel.  Claribel, I like.  Names beginning with ‘Cl’ I prefer.  The ‘Cl’s’ are always gentle and lovely girls you would die for!  Don’t you think so?”

Richard had never been acquainted with any of them to inspire that emotion.  Indeed these urgent appeals to his fancy in feminine names at five o’clock in the morning slightly surprised him, though he was but half awake to the outer world.  By degrees he perceived that Ralph was changed.  Instead of the lusty boisterous boy, his rival in manly sciences, who spoke straightforwardly and acted up to his speech, here was an abashed and blush-persecuted youth, who sued piteously for a friendly ear wherein to pour the one idea possessing him.  Gradually, too, Richard apprehended that Ralph likewise was on the frontiers of the Realm of Mystery, perhaps further toward it than he himself was; and then, as by a sympathetic stroke, was revealed to him the wonderful beauty and depth of meaning in feminine names.  The theme appeared novel and delicious, fitted to the season and the hour.  But the hardship was, that Richard could choose none from the number; all were the same to him; he loved them all.

“Don’t you really prefer the ’Cl’s’?” said Ralph, persuasively.

“Not better than the names ending in ‘a’ and ‘y,’ Richard replied, wishing he could, for Ralph was evidently ahead of him.

“Come under these trees,” said Ralph.  And under the trees Ralph unbosomed.  His name was down for the army:  Eton was quitted for ever.  In a few months he would have to join his regiment, and before he left he must say goodbye to his friends....  Would Richard tell him Mrs. Forey’s address? he had heard she was somewhere by the sea.  Richard did not remember the address, but said he would willingly take charge of any letter and forward it.

Ralph dived his hand into his pocket.  “Here it is.  But don’t let anybody see it.”

“My aunt’s name is not Clare,” said Richard, perusing what was composed of the exterior formula.  “You’ve addressed it to Clare herself.”

That was plain to see.

“Emmeline Clementina Matilda Laura, Countess Blandish,” Richard continued in a low tone, transferring the names, and playing on the musical strings they were to him.  Then he said:  “Names of ladies!  How they sweeten their names!”