Mr. Desborough stared at her aghast. "That would be nothing more nor less than an act of charity bestowed upon the lad," he said at length. "Nothing will make me believe that Charteris requires two secretaries. He wants an excuse to help the family, so he keeps on a worthless young man."
"How can you say such a thing!" Hazel cried hotly. "Mr. Charteris begged to have him, and told mother it would be a great convenience, because, Hazelhurst being so near, he need not live at Earnscleugh, as most secretaries would have to do."
"A good argument, truly," her uncle remarked curtly.
"I shall inquire into the matter directly I get home," the girl continued, more quietly, "and if I see or suspect the faintest reason to believe there is anything in what you say, Hugh shall at once come away, and look for something else. Worthless, indeed!"—her wrath rising again—"Why, he would be a very clever artist if only he could learn."
"There, there," said her uncle pettishly, "I may be wrong." But he was fairly well convinced of the way in which matters stood, and felt a twinge of discomfort as he made a shrewd guess at the feelings entertained towards himself by young Charteris, should that young man learn of the suspicion he had sown in the mind of his niece.
Luncheon over, they returned as they came—under the safe escort of Thomas—and were once more established in the library.
Hazel consulted the clock. "I ought to leave here in half an hour," she observed, making an effort to regain her composure, and resolutely setting aside this new matter for troubled thought till she should have quiet and leisure.
"By the way," Mr. Desborough began, "you said just now you were short of pocket-money." He took from his pocket a book, and produced therefrom a crisp piece of paper, which he handed to Hazel. He was experiencing a new and strange sense of remorse, in that he had caused this bright girl, if but for a moment, a disquieting thought, and he took himself to task for a meddlesome old fool, interfering in matters that were better left alone. He was anxious to conciliate his great-niece, but a trifle doubtful as to how his overtures might be met. He, Percival Desborough, was growing distrustful of himself, and oddly solicitous for the good opinion of a slip of a girl, of whose very existence, a couple of hours earlier, he was scarcely aware.