He smiled in a pleased sort of way. "It was pretty well dampened, but I found a way to dry it without streaking. I," he hesitated, "I know a little about the treatment of wet paper." Colter looked off, knitting his brows thoughtfully.
Minga, uninterested, was turning away, but the gardener nodded at the book. "I've been reading some things in there I like. I wonder if you would let me have it a little longer?"
There was dignity in the man's voice, yet a curious pleading note as if he asked to be allowed to hold on to something very necessary to him.
"I—I once owned this book," he explained, then stood seemingly plunged in thought, hardly noticing the two girls who stared at him.
"Surely." Sard made her free gesture as she handed him back the little volume. "Keep it as long as you like," said the girl in friendly fashion, "and, Colter——"
The man paused, respectfully attentive.
"Don't you want some other things to read?" Sard's eyes, friendly with interest, were upon him. She was unconscious, sympathetic. "I know Father would let you have anything in his library."
"I'll bet anything Judgie would not," was Minga's inner comment.
A curious look came over the man's face. As he stood there, the sunlight on the russet hair, there came into his eyes a quality of pleasure and bright response, of good will and courteous deference that was the unmistakable look of personality. But it was momentary. The two girls, young, not very well versed in subtle shades of breeding, stood staring curiously at him. Then suddenly they saw the look transform; a dull expression, a sort of hunted suspicion settled on the sensitive features; and it was only a garden hand in baggy trousers and sun-faded gray shirt that stood before them; something had faded out of the man.