The old man did not answer, and a dark frown gathered on the woman's heavy face. You might not guess that they were father and daughter, yet such was the case. But between Sophia Kensky and her father there was neither communion of spirit nor friendship. It was amazing that she should accompany him, as she did, wherever he went, or that he should be content to have her as his companion. The gossips of Kieff had it that neither would trust the other out of sight; and it may be that there was something in this, though a stronger motive might be suspected in so far as Sophia's actions were concerned.
Presently the old man put down his tools, blinked, and pushed back his chair.
"It is a design for a great book," he said, and chuckled hoarsely. "A book with steel covers and wonderful pages." He smiled contemptuously. "The Book of All-Power," he said.
"Little father, there are times when I think you are mad. For how can you know the secrets which are denied to others? And you who write so badly, how can you fill a great book with your writings?"
"The Book of All-Power," repeated the man, and the smile on the woman's face grew broader.
"A wonderful book!" she scoffed, "filled with magic and mystery and spells—do you wonder that we of Kieff suspect you?"
"We of Kieff?" he repeated mockingly, and she nodded.
"We of Kieff," she said.
"So you are with the rabble, Sophia!" He lifted one shoulder in a contemptuous little gesture.
"You are also of the rabble, Israel Kensky," she said. "Do you take your dinner in the Grand Duke's palace?"