"You are early," she said, with a little smile of welcome, as she stopped in her sewing.
"Yes," said he, and he added quite frankly, "I saw your father go out, and I wished to speak with you alone. The fact is, Maisrie," he continued, taking a chair opposite her, "I have heard from America to-day about that proposal I made—to get some one to collect materials for your grandfather's book; and the answer is rather a strange one—I don't quite understand—perhaps you can tell me something about it." He hesitated, and then went on: "Maisrie, I suppose it never occurred to you that—that some one else in America might be proposing to bring out a similar book?"
She looked up quickly, and with a certain apprehension in her eyes.
"Oh, yes, I knew. My grandfather told me there had been talk of such a thing. What have you heard?"
He stared at her.
"You knew?" said he. "Then surely you might have told me!"
There was something in his tone—some touch of reproach—that brought the blood to her face; and yet she answered calmly and without resentment——
"Did I not tell you?—nor my grandfather? But perhaps neither of us thought it of much importance. It was only some vague talk, as I understood; for everyone must have known that no one was so familiar with the subject as my grandfather, and that it would be foolish to try to interfere with him. At the same time I have always been anxious that he should get on with the book, for various reasons; and if you have heard anything that will induce him to begin at once, so much the better."
It was clear that she was wholly in ignorance of the true state of the case.
"No," said he, watching her the while. "What I have heard will not have that effect, but rather the reverse. To tell you the plain truth, the American or Scotch-American writer has finished his book, and it will be out almost directly."