“I must insist upon knowing what you mean by these insinuations,” he said, with ill-concealed anxiety.
“Insinuations, Jacob Wynne! What have I insinuated?”
“Why, then, do you speak in this manner?” said he, hesitatingly; “this money—belongs to a friend.”
“Indeed!” said Margaret, looking at him steadily; “and I suppose you merely offered to count it over for him.”
“Well, and if I did,” said the scrivener, plucking up a little courage; “have you any objections to offer?”
“I! What objection could I possibly have? You know I have no longer a right to object to anything which you may see fit to do. By the way, you spoke of removing. When do you go?”
This cool self-possession and absence of emotion on Margaret’s part puzzled Jacob, and alarmed him more than threats of vengeance would have done. He found it impossible to understand her.
“I don’t know,” he said, evasively, “I can’t tell. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” she answered, with a meaning look, “I may wish to call upon you again. There is nothing strange in my desiring occasionally to call upon an old acquaintance; is there, Jacob?”
He muttered something which was inaudible.