"Morris," he repeated mechanically.
Musette smiled.
"Well, he liked to think it was Morris," she added. "I believe, as a strict matter of fact, that it was originally Moses. At least, mother always said so. Anyhow, he was a very good father. He left me his business, Tony, and Murray to help me look after it."
Tony jumped up from his chair.
"Great Scot!" he cried.
Musette shook her head.
"No, Tony," she said. "He's a Jew, too, only, like father, he's ashamed of it. I'm the only one in the firm with any honest British blood. At least, I believe mother came from Dublin. She was never quite sure about it."
Tony said nothing; he only stared at her.
"It brings me in about nine thousand a year," added Musette, with reflective inconsequence; "so it would be a pity to drop it, wouldn't it?"
There was a silence, lasting for about a minute. Then Tony came over to Musette, and stood looking down into her eyes.