“I have come here to ask you for something,” she said.

“Ay? ay?  What may it be ye’re wanting of me?”

“I want the letter I lost at Craig Fernie.”

Even the solidly-founded self-possession of Bishopriggs himself was shaken by the startling directness of that attack on it.  His glib tongue was paralyzed for the moment.  “I dinna ken what ye’re drivin’ at,” he said, after an interval, with a sullen consciousness that he had been all but tricked into betraying himself.

The change in his manner convinced Anne that she had found in Bishopriggs the person of whom she was in search.

“You have got my letter,” she said, sternly insisting on the truth.  “And you are trying to turn it to a disgraceful use.  I won’t allow you to make a market of my private affairs.  You have offered a letter of mine for sale to a stranger.  I insist on your restoring it to me before I leave this room!”

Bishopriggs hesitated again.  His first suspicion that Anne had been privately instructed by Mrs. Glenarm’s lawyers returned to his mind as a suspicion confirmed.  He felt the vast importance of making a cautious reply.

“I’ll no’ waste precious time,” he said, after a moment’s consideration with himself, “in brushing awa’ the fawse breath o’ scandal, when it passes my way.  It blaws to nae purpose, my young leddy, when it blaws on an honest man like me.  Fie for shame on ye for saying what ye’ve joost said—­to me that was a fether to ye at Craig Fernie!  Wha’ set ye on to it?  Will it be man or woman that’s misca’ed me behind my back?”

Anne took the Glasgow newspaper from the pocket of her traveling cloak, and placed it before him, open at the paragraph which described the act of extortion attempted on Mrs. Glenarm.

“I have found there,” she said, “all that I want to know.”

“May a’ the tribe o’ editors, preenters, paper-makers, news-vendors, and the like, bleeze together in the pit o’ Tophet!” With this devout aspiration—­internally felt, not openly uttered—­Bishopriggs put on his spectacles, and read the passage pointed out to him.  “I see naething here touching the name o’ Sawmuel Bishopriggs, or the matter o’ ony loss ye may or may not ha’ had at Craig Fernie,” he said, when he had done; still defending his position, with a resolution worthy of a better cause.

Anne’s pride recoiled at the prospect of prolonging the discussion with him.  She rose to her feet, and said her last words.

“I have learned enough by this time,” she answered, “to know that the one argument that prevails with you is the argument of money.  If money will spare me the hateful necessity of disputing with you—­poor as I am, money you shall have.  Be silent, if you please.  You are personally interested in what I have to say next.”

She opened her purse, and took a five-pound note from it.