“Where is Mr. Hope, Susan?” it asked.
“He was in the back walk a few minutes ago, mum.”
Firm footsteps passed down the hall, the outside door opened and shut, and, in the silence, the crunch on the gravel was distinctly heard.
The anxiety cleared away from Mr. Hope’s face like the passing of a cloud, and a faint smile hovered about his lips. He seemed to have forgotten Marsten’s presence in the intensity of the moment.
“Clever girl, Susy—so I was, so I was,” he murmured to himself.
“Good-by, and thank you, Mr. Hope,” said Marsten, rising. “I will go at once and see Mr. Sartwell.”
“Yes, yes. In a moment—in a moment,” said the old man, with a glance out of the window. His voice sank into an apologetic tone as he added, as if asking a favour: “Won’t you take some money with you, to be given anonymously—anonymously, mind—to the committee for the men? You see, the negotiations may take a few days, and I understand they are badly off—badly off.”
Even Marsten smiled at this suggestion.
“I don’t see how that could be managed. I shall have to tell the men I have been to see you, or at least some of them, and they might misunderstand. I think, perhaps——”
“I see—I see. There is a difficulty, of course. I shall send it in the usual way to the papers. That’s the best plan.”