“I don't know that that would weigh much with him. So long as he sees the shelves full, and the book-backs all right, he won't want anything better. He cares only how things look.” “But the whole look of the library is growing worse--gradually, it is true, and in a measure it can't be helped--but faster than you would think, and faster than it ought. The backs, which, from a library point of view, are the faces of the books, may, up to a certain moment, look well, and after that go much more rapidly. I fear damp is getting at these from somewhere!” “Would you undertake to set all right, if my father made you a reasonable offer?” “I would--provided I found no injury beyond the scope of my experience.” Richard spoke in book-fashion: he was speaking about books, and to a social superior! he was not really pompous. “Well, if my father should come to see the thing as I do, I will let you know. Then will be the time for a definite understanding!” “The best way would be that I should come and work for a set time: by the progress I made, and what I cost, you could judge.” Lestrange rang the bell, and ordered the attendant to take the young man to his grandfather. The two wandered together over the grounds, and Richard saw much to admire and wonder at, but nothing to approach the hall or the library. On their way home, Simon, to his grandson's surprise, declared himself in favour of his working at the Mortgrange library. But the idea tickled his fancy so much, that Richard wondered at the oddity of his grandfather's behaviour. CHAPTER XI. _ALICE._ Soon after his visit to Mortgrange, the young bookbinder went home, recalled at last by his parents. John Tuke was shocked with the hardness and blackness of his hands, and called his wife's attention to them. She, however, perhaps from nearer alliance with the smithy, professed to regard their condition as by no means a serious matter. She could not, nevertheless, quite conceal her regret, for she was proud of her boy's hands.