"Ah, yes. But I mean the Orient. Egypt—Persia—India."
"Oh!" Alf caught the allusion and began to fidget. The conversation seemed to be taking an awkward turn. "You mean this 'ere?" he asked, waving a comprehensive hand about him. "I can't say as I've ever been in them parts meself like, but them as did the 'ouse up for me comes from there. I 'ad it brought over regardless. Only they didn't 'ave much furniture, an' no pictures, so I 'ad to order them meself. That's a nice thing, now." He pointed to a glaring lithograph depicting a dog of no known breed being mauled by a small child apparently in the advanced stages of scarlet fever. It was called "Happy Playmates."
"Always been fond o' that from a boy, I 'ave," he said.
"Very nice," agreed Isobel gravely. "What do you think, Denis?" She slipped a hand inside his arm and gave it a delighted little squeeze.
"Charming!" His voice shook ever so little, but he had completely regained control of his expression.
Alf judged that the time had arrived to bring his heavy batteries into action. He produced from his pockets a little bundle of notes, and handed them to Isobel.
"There, miss," he said in admirably casual tones, "a little something for your 'orsepital."
"Thank you so much," said Isobel, smiling at him. "It's most kind of you. Denis, would you ...?"
She glanced at the packet in her hand, and her voice trailed away in speechless surprise. Then she offered the notes back to Alf.