Yes, yes; Keith's wits might go
wool-gathering; but he was safe enough when he had gathered his wool.
"Well?" he repeated, lifting grave interrogative eyebrows. He had
seated himself; but Keith remained standing, a sign with him of
extreme perturbation.
"I thought I could explain things better if I saw you," he began.
"Quite so; quite so. I hope you haven't come to tell me there's been
any 'itch."
"Well, I told you as much when I wrote."
"I understood you advised me to withdraw, because you thought
Pilkington wanted a big price."
"I didn't know what he wanted; I knew what we ought to give."
"That was settled by looking in the register. You don't mean to say
_he_'s going to back out of it?"
Keith was so preoccupied that he failed to see the drift of his
father's questioning. "You see," he continued, following his own
thoughts, "it's not as if we had only ourselves to consider. There's
Miss Harden."
"Ah, yes, Pilkington did make some mention of a young lady."
"She was good enough to say she'd rather we bought the library than
anybody. I think we're bound to justify her confidence."
"Certainly, most certainly, we are," said Isaac with solemnity. He was
agreeably flattered by this tribute to the greatness of his house.
"I thought I did right in promising that we would do our very best for
her."
"Of course you were. But that's all settled. Mr. Pilkington knows that
I'm prepared to meet his wishes.
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