And as he replaced the instrument he said: “Now I wonder what the young woman has been up to! And what she wants me to do for her.”
He went back to his sitting-room and spread himself on his very nice Persian hearthrug, and regarded the pretty silver kettle that swung over his spirit lamp. “It won’t be money,” he considered. “She isn’t the sort that tries to get money....
“She’s barked her shins on something....
“Girls nowadays are a lot too plucky—they’re a lot too plucky altogether.... I hope it’s nothing serious.... She’s just a kid.”
Christina Alberta appeared in due course. Erect as ever, but nevertheless looking a little dashed and subdued.
“Uncle,” she said—for that was her theory of their relationship—“I’m in trouble. You’ve got to give me all sorts of advice.”
“Take off that brigand’s cloak,” he said, “and sit down there and make me some tea. I’ve been watching your love affair out of the corner of my eye for some time. I’m not surprised.”
Christina Alberta paused with her cloak in her hand and stared at him. “That’s nothing,” she said. “I can manage that little affair all right. Such as it is. Don’t you worry about me, in that respect. Don’t imagine things. But there is something—something different.” She threw the cloak over a chair back and came and stood by the silver tea-tray.
“You know my Daddy,” she said, arms akimbo.
“I never saw a more dissimilar parent.”