I confessed my inability to guess.
“Well, I'll tell you,” said Miss Sellars; “it'll just show you. Uncle Joseph—that was father's uncle, you understand?”
I assured Miss Sellars that the point was fixed in my mind.
“Well, one day when he came to see us he takes a cocoanut out of his pocket and offers it to me. 'Thank you,' I says; 'I don't heat cocoanuts that have been shied at by just anybody and missed!' It made him so wild. After that,” explained Miss Sellars, “they used to call me at home the Princess of Wales.”
I murmured it was a pretty fancy.
“Some people,” replied Miss Sellars, with a giggle, “says it fits me; but, of course, that's only their nonsense.”
Not knowing what to reply, I remained silent, which appeared to somewhat disappoint Miss Sellars.
Out of the Clapham Road we turned into a by-street of two-storeyed houses.
“You'll come in and have a bit of supper?” suggested Miss Sellars. “Mar's quite hanxious to see you.”
I found sufficient courage to say I was not feeling well, and would much rather return home.