“My own business? Right you are. What's the time?”
“The time!” The question did indeed seem irrelevant. “I'm sure I don't know, but I'll go and have a look at the kitchen——”
“Then you needn't. I don't really want to know. I was only wondering when John William would be back from Melbourne. But where's your watch?”
“Getting put to rights, my dear,” said old Tees-dale faintly, with his eyes upon the carpet.
“What, still?”
“Yes; they're keeping it a long time, aren't they?”
“They are so,” said Missy dryly. She watched the old man as he crossed the room twice, with his weak-kneed steps, his white hands joined behind him and his thin body bent forward. Then she went on reading his letter.
It affected her curiously. At the third page she uttered a quick exclamation; at the fourth she lowered the letter with a quick gesture, and stood staring at David with an expression at which he could only guess, because the back of her head was against the glass.
“This is too much,” cried Missy in a broken voice. “I can never let you send this.”
“And why not, my dear?” laughed Mr. Teesdale, echoing, as he thought, her merriment; for it was to this he actually attributed the break in her voice.