Now he turned right round where he stood to face me squarely. “Why should you be sorry?”

“A name is so little.” His eyes widened and I hurried to explain myself. “Such a small thing to have of your father’s, compared to his guidance and his”—I looked away—“warmth.”

“You are entirely mistaken, Miss Thomas. A name is never small,” he said hotly. “My name is my father in me. It is him restored to the world through me.”

I nodded, stirred by his vehemence, though I chafed at his dismissal of my remark. Before I could think what to respond, he took my hand in his and gravely shook it.

“Names are like hands, Maisie Thomas. When I proffer mine to another, I am sure it speaks of a good grip, of a manly character.”

“Well, I cannot take up your metaphor,” I said breezily, “as women’s hands are often gloved—and our names are more like frocks.”

He grinned, easier now, and released me. “A womanish thought, if ever I heard one. For you will put yours off before long, I should imagine, and take up that of a husband’s.”

I did not look at him. “No, you mistake me. I did not mean that at all.”

“No?”

“No. I merely meant that a name is nothing but words—like cloth, like gauzy stuff. It is nothing.”

He coughed. “Perhaps you might feel differently once you have entered your married name?”

“And why might that be?” I asked him somewhat crossly, unable to tease any longer.

“It is the name with which you face the world in full possession of all your powers.” He smiled at me, his meaning unmistakable. “Of all your considerable powers, Miss Thomas.” And then he bowed and excused himself.

“Stuff!” I said to his departing back. I turned round to face the lawn once more, took hold of my skirt, and curtsied to the view; we had had our little conversation. “Stuff!” I said again.

“What brave words, Maisie Thomas.”

I looked round to find Miss Grange standing in the shadow of the door.

“Hello,” I said, made suddenly shy and glad all at once. She pulled her shawl more closely round, her hands remaining in the wool crossed at her neck while she regarded me with a bemused expression. She would understand what I had tried to explain to Mr. Lanman.

“I have missed you, Miss Grange,” I blurted.