Then from the drawing-room, through the closed door, came the voice of Miss Charteris--full, clear, measured, melodious--reading Greek tragedy. _érrois anaidés, én táchei neanía_ declaimed Miss Charteris; and the Boy fled. Arrived in the kitchen, he persuaded Martha that cigarette smoke was fatal to black-beetles. He went about, blowing fragrant clouds into every possible crack and cranny. Martha watched him, out of the corner of her eye, crawling along under the dresser in his immaculate white flannels, and Martha blessed her stars that her kitchen floor was so spotlessly clean. Only this morning she had remarked to Jenkins that he could very well eat his dinner off the boards. Mercifully, Jenkins--tiresome man though he usually was--had not taken this literally; or he might have made the floor less fit for the Boy's perambulations. Having taken all this trouble in order to establish his unquestioned right to smoke in Martha's kitchen, and to pose as a public benefactor while so doing, the Boy seated himself on the edge of the table, exactly behind Martha; lighted a fresh "Zenith," and prepared to enjoy himself. Martha glanced nervously at the smoke, issuing from cracks and holes on all sides. It gave her a feeling that the house was on fire. Of course she knew it was not; but to _feel_ the house is on fire, is only one degree less alarming than to _know_ it is. However, beetles are nasty things; and the condescending kindness and regard for Martha's personal comfort, which crawled about after them in white flannels, was gratifying to a degree. So Martha turned and gave the Boy one of her unusual smiles. He was very intently blowing rings--"bubbles" Martha called them afterwards, when explaining them to Jenkins; but that was Martha's mistake. They were smoke rings. It was one of the Boy's special accomplishments. He was an expert at blowing rings. Presently:--"Martha, my duck--" he said suddenly. Martha jumped. "Bless us, Mr. Guy! What a name!" "What's the matter with it?" inquired the Boy, innocently. "I consider it a very nice name, and scriptural." "Oh, I didn't mean m' own name," explained Martha, more flushed than the warmth of the fire warranted. "Not but what m' godfathers and godmothers might well 'ave chosen me a better." "Oh, don't blame them, overmuch, Martha," said the Boy, earnestly. "You see their choice was limited. If you study your catechism you will find that it had to be 'N' or 'M'--'Naomi' or 'Martha.' Even at that early age, they thought you favoured 'Martha' rather than 'Naomi'; so they named you 'Martha.'" "Well I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins. "'N' or 'M'! So it is! Now I never noticed _that_ before. We live and learn! And Jenkins--silly man--'as always bin annoyed that they named 'im 'Noah.' But how about when _you_ was christened, Mr. Guy?"