It was locked.
"Who's there?" called out Hamish.
"Can I come in for a minute, Hamish? I want to say a word to you."
He did not undo the door immediately. There appeared to be an opening
and closing of his desk, first--a scuffle, as of things being put away.
When Constance entered, she saw one of the insurance books open on the
table, the pen and ink near it; the others were not to be seen. The
keys were in the table lock. A conviction flashed over the mind of
Constance that Judith was right, in supposing the office accounts to be
the object that kept him up. "What can he do with his time in the day?"
she thought.
"What is it, Constance?"
"Can you let me speak to you, Hamish?"
"If you won't be long. I was just beginning to be busy," he replied,
taking out the keys and putting them into his pocket.
"I see you were," she said, glancing at the ledger. "Hamish, you must
not be offended with me, or think I interfere unwarrantably. I would
not do it, but that I am anxious for you. Why is it that you sit up so
late at night?"
There was a sudden accession of colour to his face--Constance saw it;
but there was a smile as well. "How do you know I do sit up? Has Judy
been telling tales?"
"Judy is uneasy about it, and she spoke to me this evening. She has
visions of the house being burnt up with every one in it, and of your
fatally injuring your health. I believe she would consider the latter
calamity almost more grievous than the former, for you know you were
always her favourite.
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