“Yes! Yes!” said Madame, with a sort of stoic pathos. “He would. He alone would do such a thing. But he would do it.”
“And what point would he make for?”
“What point? You mean where would he go? To Battersea, no doubt, to his cousin—and then to Italy, if he thinks he has saved enough money to buy land, or whatever it is.”
“And so good-bye to him,” said Mr. May bitterly.
“Geoffrey ought to know,” said Madame, looking at Geoffrey.
Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, and would not give his comrade away.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know. He will leave a message at Battersea, I know. But I don’t know if he will go to Italy.”
“And you don’t know where to find him in Knarborough?” asked Mr. May, sharply, very much on the spot.
“No—I don’t. Perhaps at the station he will go by train to London.” It was evident Geoffrey was not going to help Mr. May.
“Alors!” said Madame, cutting through this futility. “Go thou to Knarborough, Geoffrey, and see—and be back at the theatre for work. Go now. And if thou can’st find him, bring him again to us. Tell him to come out of kindness to me. Tell him.”