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 in a decisive sort of way that implied dismissal. But this maid wasn't going to be called Emma quite so easily. 'If you please, ma'am, my name's Glory,' she said meekly, yet not without a touch of obstinacy. Aunt Agatha had looked up surprised and indignant. 'A most unsuitable name,' she said severely. 'I shall call you Emma.' But that maid was evidently roused. 'I can't go against my godfather and godmothers in my baptism, ma'am, and go about masquerading under another name,' she had remonstrated. 'It wouldn't be right, nohow.' Now, if there is one thing that Aunt Agatha hates it is opposition. If a look could have withered up the poor offending Glory, hers would have done it. 'You will either be "Emma" in my service or any absurd name you like outside it.' Aunt Agatha fixed her with a haughty stare through her lorgnettes. 'I'm Glory,' was all the maid said sullenly. 'Well, go there, then,' was what Aunt Agatha looked, but, of course, being a lady, she didn't say it. Sometimes Aunt Agatha has wonderful self-control. It all depends upon whether she remembers her dignity or not in time. All she said now was: 'Go to the housekeeper's room and think it over for half an hour, then come and tell me.' And such is human nature that, after that half-hour's cogitation, Glory came back Emma, which she has ever since remained. Whether a good name weighed little