Carstairs bent down and examined it. "It's done rather well," he said; "girls are good tracers. I left that for her to copy."
"Oh! I didn't think you—I didn't know you knew. I wanted to warn you."
"Thanks very much, but it wasn't necessary."
She heaved a very deep sigh of relief. "That's been on my mind like a ton weight. I was afraid my boy was a thief. Very often I was on the point of writing to you, but—you hadn't called."
Carstairs was bent low over the drawing examining some fine work very closely, he was so deeply interested he did not look up as she spoke. "That's excellent work! Darwen was always an artist, in everything," he said.
"Yes," she answered, proudly, "he's very clever. I'm so sorry you quarrelled. I knew that girl would come between you."
He looked up, impassive as usual.
"Yes," she repeated, "but you're the one she really likes, I know." Mrs Darwen seemed to have grown visibly younger.
Carstairs straightened himself and stood looking down at her with his calm steady grey eyes. "Ye-es," he said, he was thinking rapidly. "Yes, I hope that's true. Will you give me her address; has she—er—got a situation?"
"Oh, no! she's been in London, having her voice trained. She's got a magnificent voice."