He would lose his public.

The Non-conformists and Evangelicals would be frightened by the very name.

He lost his temper and scoffed at my Early Victorianism.

"Little Lily and her Pet Rabbit" was the kind of title I admired.

He was going to call it "God." "My dear fellow, call it what you please," said I, anxious to avoid a duel of plates and glasses, for we were lunching on opposite sides of a table at his club.
"I please to call it," said he, "by the only conceivable title that is adequate to such a work." Then he laughed, with a gleam of his old charm, and filled up my wine glass.