She opened it and peeped in at the three and sixpence it contained, and then shut it with a snap as if fearful of their escaping.
"What do you like next best to marketing?" asked Charles in the sedate voice of a heavy father speaking to his favourite child.
"Opening parcels."
"I don't quite——"
"Oh, you know—strange parcels when they come, or when father brings them, one never knows what may be in them—chocolate creams or what. I wonder what father will bring me back this time?"
"Where has he gone to?"
"He has gone to get some money."
"He will be back this evening?"
"Yes, unless he finds it difficult getting the money. If he does, he won't be home till morning." She spoke as an Indian squaw might speak, whose father or husband has gone a-hunting, whilst Charles marvelled vaguely.
"But suppose—he doesn't get any money?"