"They don't really mean to be rude," she explained; "they're only
children." Then, detecting the glimmering smile in Selwyn's eyes, "But
perhaps you wouldn't mind telling us who you are because we all would
like to know, but we are not going to be ill-bred enough to ask."

Their direct expectant gaze slightly embarrassed him; he laughed a
little, but there was no response from them.

"Well," he said, "as a matter of fact and record, I am a sort of
relative of yours--a species of avuncular relation."

"What is that?" asked Drina coldly.

"That," said Selwyn, "means that I'm more or less of an uncle to you.
Hope you don't mind. You don't have to entertain me, you know."

"An uncle!" repeated Drina.

"Our uncle?" echoed Billy. "You are not our soldier uncle, are you? You
are not our Uncle Philip, are you?"

"It amounts to that," admitted Selwyn. "Is it all right?"

There was a dead silence, broken abruptly by Billy; "Where is your
sword, then?"

"At the hotel. Would you like to see it, Billy?"

The five children drew a step nearer, inspecting him with merciless
candour.