"Stories? Oh! and is that a man's work? I come of a good old Scottish stock. My forebears have always held that a man should do a man's work. Is writing stories that?"
"It isn't easy, if that's what you mean."
"Not easy? I should have thought you would have found it as easy as lying. I've written them myself; I didn't find it hard. It's just a waste of time. However, I'm not judging you. Is that all you do, write stories?"
"Just at present I'm doing something else as well. I'm acting as private secretary to a lady."
"Private secretary to a lady? You've your own notions of what's a man's work, Mr. Talfourd."
Harry flushed; Margaret laughed.
"And you country Scotchmen have your own ideas of what you're entitled to say."
"You're Scotch yourself, my lassie, on the best side of you; don't gird at your own birth. I ask your pardon, Mr. Talfourd, if I've said anything I ought not to say; but I've known this lassie all her days. She's been to me as the apple of my eye, and--she tells me that you're to be her husband. Would it be going too far, Mr. Talfourd, if I were to ask you what's the name of the lady to whom you're acting as private secretary?"
"Mrs. Lamb--Mrs. Gregory Lamb."
"Mrs. Gregory Lamb? That's odd."