Liz was profoundly amazed, but not a change passed over her face.
'Ye're no' feared,' was her only comment, delivered at last in a perfectly passionless voice.
'Feared! What for?' he asked, trying to speak pleasantly. 'You're my sister, and I need a housekeeper. I'm thinking of leaving Colquhoun Street, and taking a wee house somewhere in the suburbs. We can talk it over when you come.'
Then Liz sat up and fixed her large, indescribable eyes full on her brother's face.
'An' will ye tak' me withoot askin' a single question, Wat?'
'I can't do anything else,' he answered good-humouredly.
'But I've lost my character,' she said then, in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice.
Although he was in a manner prepared for it, this calm announcement made him wince.
'You can redeem it again,' he said in a slightly unsteady voice. 'I don't want to be too hard on you, Liz. You never had a chance.'
Liz leaned back in her chair again and closed her eyes. She was, to outward appearance, indifferent and calm, but her breast once or twice tumultuously heaved, and her brows were knit, as if she suffered either physical or mental pain.