“A’right,” said Max cheerfully.
The ladies went back to the dining-room and conversation took a wider trend, for Miss Bibby seemed not too certain now of the judgment of the author’s sister.
“I brought you round that book I promised,” said Miss Kinross, “but I haven’t found your story yet. I have hunted everywhere again for it, and I cannot think where Hugh could have put it. Are you sure you are not in a hurry for it? I could write to Hugh, of course, though I really don’t know his address; he only told me Melbourne.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Bibby, “I would not have him worried on any account. A few days will not make any difference. I can wait until he returns. And it is possible”—her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled with the hope—“that he has taken the MS with him and means to look through it while he is away.”
“But he did look through it,” said Kate; “he told me he had spent all the morning over it. That is what makes me doubtful that he can have taken it. He said so distinctly that it was on his desk and that I was to take it across to you.”
Her eyes held a troubled look. Hugh was [p222] so hopelessly untidy with his papers that it was just possible the precious MS had fallen into the waste-paper basket and been reduced to smoke by Lizzie. Still it seemed unwise to meet trouble half-way. Hugh would be back now any day, so there was no use to worry the poor authoress unnecessarily.
“Well,” she said, “I must be off if I am to get my ride. But I tell you I shall not enjoy it a bit without the little man on the little red tricycle pounding along behind me to the corner as usual. You couldn’t find it possible to let him out now? He must feel good by this. You never feel naughty as long as this, do you, Muffie?”
“Never,” said Muffie stoutly.
“Boys are so different,” sighed Miss Bibby.
“Well, let us have one more peep before I go,” pleaded Kate.