Fresh from his fagging task, Langholm did not know what on earth to say
to the pretty schoolgirl, whose own shyness reacted on herself; but he
was doing his best, and atoning in attentiveness for his shortcomings as
a companion, when in the tent he had to apologize to a lady in blue, who
turned out to be Rachel herself, with Hugh Woodgate at her side.
"Oh, no, we live in London," the young girl was saying; "only I go to
the same school as Ida Uniacke, and I am staying here on a visit."
"I've finished it," whispered Langholm to Rachel, "this very afternoon;
and now I'm ready for yours! I see," he added, dropping back into the
attitude of respectful interest in the young girl; "only on a visit; and
who was the old gentleman from whom I tore you away?"
The child laughed merrily.
"That was my father," she said; "but he is only here on his way to
Leeds."
"You mustn't call it my book," remonstrated Rachel, while Woodgate
waited upon both ladies.
"But it was you who gave me the idea of writing a novel round Mrs.
Minchin."
"I don't think I did. I am quite sure it was your own idea. But one book
at a time. Surely you will take a rest?"
"I shall correct this thing.
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