She felt the paper wrapping with childish curiosity and interest, tore off the string and rapidly exposed the contents.
It was a little Chinese god in white ivory—as delicate a bit of work as any I had seen.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it—scrumptious!"
"That's very nice of you, Gran'pa!" I bellowed. "Where did you find it?"
He hesitated.
"In a Regent Street shop," he said, at last, beginning to remove his hat and coat.
I regret to say that I did not believe him. That ugly little brute of an idol had either been discovered in a Chinese curio shop in the East End, or purchased from some sailor in the neighborhood of the Docks. It was so thoroughly typical of that quarter and so unusual a present to bring home from Regent Street, that I was convinced Gran'pa had lied in his beard.
More than that, his whole manner was mysterious and secretive. He had an air of wanting to get away from us—or get us away from him—or, failing that, to get our thoughts away from his five-hour absence from home.
"I'll just pop upstairs and have a wash," he mumbled.
Washing for dinner—at ninety-five! Of course, he had done such things before. . . .