“Yes,” replied the old man with a sigh; “it wanted doing, it wanted doing. And I think I have done it very well.”
“I must overhaul your scrip, while I am here. Let me have a look at it.”
“Don't bother about it yet, my boy. Finish your coffee. Let me ring for some more. You must be tired after your long journey.”
“Tired?” laughed Raine. “Oh dear no, and I can go on quite well till breakfast. I only want to see what kind of stuff you have been doing since I have been away.”
The professor went to his drawer and pulled out the manuscript, his heart glowing at Raine's loving interest in his work—a never-failing source of pride and comfort.
“Here it is, nearly finished.”
Raine took the scrip from him and turned over the pages, with a running commentary on the scope within which the subject was treated. At last he uttered an exclamation of surprise, laid the book on his knee and looked up at his father.
“Hullo! what is all this?”
The old man peeped over his shoulder.
“That is my secretary's writing,” he explained; “Miss Graves, you remember her, don't you?”