"Let me help you," said Julian.
"You!"
"Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which
she remembered so well. "You forget that I am a curate. Curates are
privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try."
He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the
tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his hands, and
the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was something in the
trivial action, and in the homely attention that it implied, which in
some degree quieted her fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his
hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were
to lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did
indeed suspect the truth.