"That was my father," she said; "but he is only here on his way to Leeds."
"You mustn't call it my book," remonstrated Rachel, while Woodgate waited upon both ladies.
"But it was you who gave me the idea of writing a novel round Mrs. Minchin."
"I don't think I did. I am quite sure it was your own idea. But one book at a time. Surely you will take a rest?"
"I shall correct this thing. It will depress me to the verge of suicide. Then I shall fall to upon my magnum opus."
"You really think it will be that?"
"It should be mine. It isn't saying much; but I never had such a plot as you have given me!"
Rachel shook her head in a last disclaimer as she moved away with the Vicar of Marley.
"Oh, Mr. Langholm, do you write books?" asked the schoolgirl, with round blue eyes.
"For my sins," he confessed. "But do you prefer an ice, or more strawberries and cream?"