"Thank you, ma'am, I'm much obliged," Mrs. Short replied, taking the flowers and laying them on the table without a glance at their fair, fragile faces.
"I have a bunch for your neighbour, too, you see," Mrs. Cloudesley went on, seeing that she eyed the basket curiously.
Mrs. Short laughed. "For Ralph Trulock!" said she. "Flowers and he won't go well together. Poor Trulock! Such a cross-grained body! Are you going, ma'am? Well, I hope you'll come again some day. I'm greatly obliged for the visit,—and the posy," she added, after a moment's pause.
She opened the door for them, bidding them good-bye again with great cordiality. A poor lad had ventured into her little front garden, and seemed inclined to address them, but Mrs. Short retreated hastily, crying,—
"Oh, what a miserable-looking creetur! I must run in, ma'am, or the sight of him will spoil my appetite for my tea, I'm that good-natured."
The Cloudesleys looked at each other, the lady puzzled, the gentleman amused.
"A kind-hearted woman, May?"
"Yes, Gilbert," in a doubtful voice. "I dare say she is. Do give that boy sixpence, dear."
"No, Mrs. Cloudesley; that is an extravagant notion, quite unfit for a curate's wife. Besides, I will not encourage begging; but we'll see who he is. Very likely he wants work rather than charity."
A few words with the boy, and then they went on to the next house, and knocked at the door of Mr. Trulock's home. It was opened after a little while by a tall, stooping man with grey hair and a thin, grave face,—more than grave, indeed, for it was both stern and sad. He was decently dressed, but not warmly; and he looked cold, and not particularly glad to see them, little Mrs. Cloudesley thought, as she held on tight to her husband's arm, and gave it a little pinch, as much as to say, "You must speak this time."