‘Somewhere he must be, if it is in this house.’
‘There is poor old Madame Belmarche’s still empty, with Bridget keeping it. I wish he could have rooms there.’
‘Well, why not? Pettilove told me it must be let as two tenements. If the old woman could take half, a lodger would pay her rent,’ said Mr. Kendal, promptly. ‘You had better propose it.’
‘And the Goldsmiths?’ asked Albinia.
‘I will show him the Lower Wharf.’
The next afternoon Mr. Kendal desired his wife to go to the Bank and borrow young O’More for her walking companion.
‘Really I don’t know whether I have the impudence.’
‘I will come and do it for you. You will do best alone with the lad; I want you to get into his confidence, and find out whether old Goldsmith treats him properly. I declare, but that I know John Kendal so well, this would be enough to make me rejoice that Gilbert is not thrown on the world!’
Albinia knew herself to be so tactless, that she saw little hope other doing anything but setting him against his relations; but her husband was in no frame to hear objections, so she made none, and only trusted she should not be very foolish. At least, the walk would be a positive physical benefit to the slave of the desk.
Ulick O’More was at his post, and said his head was well, but his hair stuck up as if his fingers had been many times run through it; he was much thinner, and the wearied countenance, whitened complexion, and spiritless sunken eyes, were a sad contrast to the glowing freshness and life that had distinguished him in the summer.