“Yes—the fact is—I—have—in my room—an old chippendale writing-table. It belonged to an eighteenth-century ancestor who wrote the most execrable verse. You remember the modest piece of furniture?”
A twinkle shot into Caroline’s eyes:
“Well, since you press the question, Eustace, there is a piece of furniture in your room.”
“It is grown somewhat shabby,” he resumed—“and a friend of mine who has long had a great fancy for it——”
“Yes,” said Caroline slyly—“what was your friend’s name, did you say?”
“Oh—ah—yes—his name is Gordon.”
Caroline nodded:
“Yes,” said she—“I suspected it was your uncle, Eustace—his Christian name is, I think, Isaac.”
The big man chuckled:
“Do you know, now I come to think of it, his Christian name is Isaac,” he said.... “He has long had a fancy for it. I called in just now as I passed, and told him he might have it.... It will give me more room——”