“You would need to,” she acceded; “but—I shall not take you or any one else motoring to-night.”
In the early evening after dinner Margaret sought her guardian. He was at his desk in his own special den out of the library, and the door was open.
“May I come in?” she asked.
Spencer sprang to his feet.
“By all means,” he cried as he placed a chair. “You don’t often honor me—like this.”
“But this is where you do business, when at home; isn’t it?” she inquired. “And I—I have come to do business.”
The man laughed.
“So it’s business—just plain sordid business—to which I am indebted for this,” he bemoaned playfully. “Well, and what is it? Income too small for expenses?” He chuckled a little, and he could afford to. Margaret had made no mistake in asking him still to have the handling of her property. The results had been eminently satisfactory both to his pride and her pocketbook.
“No, no, it’s not that; it’s the mills.”