"The gentleman is having a row with the cabby. Don't you hear him?" She grinned with enjoyment. "He has just called the cabby a grasping, white-livered Jew. It seems as though he knowed how to take care of himself."
I did not speak.
"Who is he, mum?"
I pretended not to hear.
"Is he your uncle?"
"He's—my father." I closed my eyes, signifying that the conversation was finished.
"Never knew you had a father, mum," came in a succession of gasps and squeaks.
"Of course I have a father," I said excessively crossly. "How do you suppose I came into the world. Kindly show them in here and go and unstrap the luggage."
When they appeared, and I had embraced them both, giving mother an extra squeeze, I said—
"Dear father, whatever has been the matter?"