Grey eyes looked up at me, smiling a little shyly.
"Do you know what I want for Christmas, dad?"
"Another bull-terrier, dear—or a new saddle?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"So wrong, daddy. Shall I tell you?"
"Please do."
"You promised once—when I should be old enough to understand—to tell me the whole story of you and—mummy dear. I'll soon be eighteen. Won't you tell me this story for my best Christmas present?"
I bent over and kissed her.
"Yes, dear. I'll tell you. Listen, little girl—"