“Never mind. I—”
“What will you give me for something I have found?” exclaimed Annabel, bursting in upon them, her hands behind her, and her eyes dancing. “It is one of your treasures, Hamish.”
“Then give it me, Annabel. Come! I am tired; I cannot play with you this evening.”
“I won’t give it you until you guess what it is.”
Hamish was evidently in no mood for play. Annabel danced round and about him, provokingly eluding his grasp. He caught her suddenly, and laid his hands upon hers. With a shriek of laughing defiance, she flung something on the floor, and four or five sovereigns rolled about.
It was Hamish’s purse. She had found it on the hall table, by the side of his hat and gloves, left there most probably inadvertently. Hamish stooped to pick up the money.
“See how rich he is!” danced Annabel; “after telling us he was as poor as a church mouse! Where has it all come from?”
Never had they seen Hamish more annoyed. When he had secured the money, he gave a pretty sharp tap to Annabel, and ordered her, in a ringing tone of command, not to meddle with his things again. He quitted the room, and Annabel ran after him, laughing and defiant still.
“Where has it all come from?” The words, spoken in innocence by the child, rang as a knell on the ears of Constance and Arthur Channing. Constance’s very heart turned sick—sick as Arthur’s had been since the meeting with Hopper under the elm-trees.