Mr. Durnford smiled in his shrewd way.
“If they knew you, Mr. Horn, they would rather trust you in the matter than suggest an amount themselves.”
“No doubt,” responded “the Golden Shoemaker,” with a smile. “But now, Mr. Durnford,” he persisted for the twentieth time, “do you know of such a couple as I want?”
They were in the minister’s study. Mr. Durnford sat musing, with his arms resting upon his knees, and his hands together at the finger-tips. Suddenly he looked up.
“You want a couple who have lost a child, Mr. Horn? I can tell you of some good people who have found one.”
“Cobbler” Horn gave a slight start. “Found a child! What child?” Such were the thoughts which darted, like lightning, through his brain. Then he smiled sadly to himself. Of course what he had imagined, for an instant, could not be.
“Well” he said calmly, “who are they? Let me hear!”
For one moment only, Mr. Durnford hesitated to reply.
“You will, perhaps, be startled, Mr. Horn, but must not misunderstand me, if I say that they are the excellent friends who have been as father and mother to your secretary, Miss Owen.”
“Cobbler” Horn was indeed startled. His thoughts had not turned in the direction indicated by the minister’s suggestion—that was all. But he was not displeased.