'Other people might think what?' Luke asked, with gravity passing into anger.
'Well, well; you must take it as I meant it, old man.' Bower was annoyed, and added: 'No doubt Egremont likes to have a pretty gyurl to talk to every morning. I don't blame him. Still, if I was Grail—'
'What the devil do you mean, Bower? What's all this about?'
Ackroyd clearly knew nothing. The other recovered some of his confidence.
'Well, you needn't let it go further. It's no good thinking the worst of people. For all I know Grail sends her to help with the books, just because he can't go himself.'
Luke laid down the paper, and said quietly:
'Will you tell me all about it? It's the first I've heard. What's going on?'
Bower brought out his narrative, even naming the authority for it. He took sips of whisky in between. Ackroyd heard in silence, and seemed to dismiss his indignation.
'There's nothing in all that,' he said at length. 'Of course Grail knows all about it. This Mrs. What's-her-name seems to have too little to do.'
'Well, there's no knowing.'