"Of course we can," I said, with hearty agreement.
We sighed in unison; but this time they were sighs of relief.
She was silent a while, then she said: "And there's another thing. It's costing you a lot of money my staying here. How ever am I going to pay you?"
"It's costing me nothing," I protested. "And any way brothers don't let their sisters pay. Besides, you do the housekeeping and help me review novels. I ought to pay you."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's—it's horrid having to talk about money. But I must. I can't let you pay for me—I couldn't, really. My father was always so keen that I should be very particular in those matters. And I really couldn't stand the feeling that I was a burden on you."
"Well, well, you shall pay up when Morton has disentangled your affairs, and the Granite quarry is working again."
"But Mr. Morton gave me to understand that the Granite quarry was lost," she said, knitting her brow.
"He was wrong—quite wrong. I got hold of a paper, when we dealt with Pudleigh by the Oval, which puts quite another complexion on your affairs. In a year or so, when we've got the Company cleared and working properly again, you'll
