"Still it doesn't matter," the simple woman went on. "There's lots and lots of work still before us. And Angus," she smiled over at the Scot playfully, "—well, I think he's really glad I'm going. Aren't you?"
Angus flushed. Then his eyes met the curious gleam in his employer's.
"I think it's best I stay, mam," he said guardedly. "If labor troubles get busy I'd say I'm the more fitted to deal with them."
"Of course you are." Monica was quite herself again, and she laughed as she picked up her husband's suit case. "I'll take this along for you, dear," she went on. "Good night, Angus. Good night, Alec—for the present."
She hurried out of the room, bearing the suit case in her hand, and, replying to her salutation, the two men stood watching her as she went.
The door closed.
For some moments Hendrie did not move. His great head was slightly inclined out of its usual erect position. Angus waited for him to speak. For himself he had nothing to say.
At last the cigar in the millionaire's mouth was tilted and he turned. He reached out and drew the chair Monica had occupied toward him. Then he sat down quite suddenly.
"Guess she'll find the library empty," he said, in a curiously dull tone. He crossed his legs and reached for a match. "He's well on his way to Calford—now," he added, without enthusiasm.
Angus nodded.