NUNKIE
But they turned into Regent Street: to Lily it was the entrance to the paradise of shops. The huge curve displayed its window fronts; and ladies and gentlemen and little girls: not dressed in their Ma’s leavings, these last, but a superior branch of mankind, similar to that in the front boxes.
Nunkie blinked his eyes behind his spectacles: all this luxury terrified him; he had almost forgotten the sleeve-links, talking with Clifton of people they had known:
“The boy-violinist? Not up to much. Ave Maria? A disgrace: married, deserted, I don’t know what. Poland, the Parisienne? A scandal!” As for him, he had but one wish, after getting his girls married: to retire to his home, grow his roses, look after his pigeons; simple joys, the only ones....
“Look, Thea!” Lily broke in, pointing through the plate-glass to a heap of imitation jewelry, lying, among watches, on red and black velvet.
But, when Thea saw the prices—ten shillings, twelve shilling’s—she refused to go in, saying she could have it just as pretty in Wardour Street and ever so much cheaper.
“Just as you please, my darling. I’ll do whatever you like. I don’t know anything about it!”
Clifton felt something rise in revolt within him, he was unable to resist it; a case of showing that old curmudgeon what a Pa was and that his little girl, too, did pullings-up in her way and that he knew how to treat her as a Pa should:
“Your watch, Lily,” he said, opening the door and pushing her in. “Now’s the chance to get it. Come, choose for yourself!”