“You are right there. Why on earth do you sit here so long?”
“To work, Mr. Layard.”
“Why should you work? I thought women hated it, and above all, why for Monk? Does he pay you?”
“I work because I like work, and shall go on working till I die, and afterwards I hope; also, these experiments interest me very much. Mr. Monk does not pay me. I have never asked him to do so. Indeed, it is I who am in his debt for all the kindness he has shown to my father and myself. To any little assistance that I can give him he is welcome.”
“I see,” said Mr. Layard; “but I should have thought that was Mary Porson’s job. You know he is engaged to her, don’t you?”
“Yes, but Miss Porson is not here; and if she were, perhaps she would not care for this particular work.”
Then came a pause, which, not knowing what this awkward silence might breed, Stella broke.
“I suppose you saw my father,” she said; “how did you find him looking?”
“Oh! better, I thought; but that leg of his still seems very bad.” Then, with a gasp and a great effort, he went on: “I have been speaking to him about you.”
“Indeed,” said Stella, looking at him with wondering eyes.