"You could stop work, buy yourself comforts, pleasures, trips. It is a mad thing," she teased, "to give away money.... Oh, little Doctor--I can't breathe if you hold me--so tight." "About the name," he said presently, "I--dislike to oppose you, but I cannot--I cannot--" "Well, I've decided to change it, Henry, in deference to your wishes." "I am extremely glad. I myself know a name--" "Instead of calling it the Henry G. Surface Home--" Suddenly she drew away from him, leaving behind both her hands for a keepsake, and raised to him a look so luminous and radiant that he felt himself awed before it, like one who with impious feet has blundered upon holy ground. "I am going to call it the Henry G. Surface _Junior_ Home. Do you know any name for a Home so pretty as that?" "No, no, I--can't let you--" But she cried him down passionately, saying: "Yes, that is _our_ name now, and we are going to make it honorable." From his place beside the sociological bookcase--perhaps faunal naturalists can tell us why--the great pleasure-dog Behemoth, whose presence they had both forgotten, raised his leonine head and gave a sharp, joyous bark. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Queed, by Henry Sydnor Harrison