Gordon had peeled his third potato when Diana staggered into the kitchen. They were big potatoes when he started to deal with them. They were very small when he had finished. It was difficult to know where the skin began and ended; he had cut deep to make sure.
At the sight of her tragic face he dropped his potato.
“Anything wrong?”
“Wrong? Everything’s wrong!” she said bitterly. “I’m going to give you your chance. I don’t like your name, Dan, and I’ve changed it. You’re Isaac!”
“Who!” he twittered.
“You’re Isaac, my uncle Isaac!”
He put down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron and went slowly across to her.
“I am not your uncle Isaac,” he began.
“Take off that!” she pointed to the apron. “Put on your coat and come upstairs. Remember, you’re uncle Isaac and that terrible female—where is she?”
“How the dickens do I know where she is?” asked the annoyed Gordon.