"I am not so sure she has said it. She means it."
"Why she--she is one of the best and sweetest girls living; she might marry almost anybody; she might nearly get a lord," burst forth Mr. Galloway, with a touch of his former gossiping propensity.
Roland's eyes sparkled. "So she might, sir. But she'll wait for me. And she does not expect riches, either; but will put her shoulder to the wheel with me and be content to work and help until riches come."
Mr. Galloway gave a sniff of disbelief. He might be pardoned if he treated this in his own mind as a simple delusion on Roland's part. He liked Annabel nearly as well as he had liked Arthur; and he looked upon Mr. Roland as a wandering knight-errant, not much likely to do any good for himself or others. Roland rose.
"I must be off," he said. "I've got my mother to see. Well, this is a pill--to find you've no clue to give me. Hamish said it would be so."
"I hear Hamish Channing is ill?"
"He is not ill, that I know of. He looks it: a puff of wind you'd say would blow him away."
"Disappointed in his book?"
"Well, I suppose so. It's an awful sin, though, for it to have been written down--whoever did it."
"I should call it a swindle," corrected Mr. Galloway. "A barefaced, swindling injustice. The public ought to be put right, if there were anyway of doing it."