'Shall I go?' asked Philip, hoping she would say 'no', and be content with Phoebe, and leave him where he was.
'Oh, Philip, would yo'?' said Sylvia, turning round.
'Ay,' said Bell, 'if thou would take it they'd be minding yo'.'
So there was nothing for it but for him to go, in the first flush of his delightful rites of hospitality.
'It's not far,' said he, consoling himself rather than them. 'I'll be back in ten minutes, the tea is maskit, and Phoebe will take yo'r wet things and dry 'em by t' kitchen fire; and here's the stairs,' opening a door in the corner of the room, from which the stairs immediately ascended. 'There's two rooms at the top; that to t' left is all made ready, t' other is mine,' said he, reddening a little as he spoke. Bell was busy undoing her bundle with trembling fingers.
'Here,' said she; 'and oh, lad, here's a bit o' peppermint cake; he's main and fond on it, and I catched sight on it by good luck just t' last minute.'
Philip was gone, and the excitement of Bell and Sylvia flagged once more, and sank into wondering despondency. Sylvia, however, roused herself enough to take off her mother's wet clothes, and she took them timidly into the kitchen and arranged them before Phoebe's fire.
Phoebe opened her lips once or twice to speak in remonstrance, and then, with an effort, gulped her words down; for her sympathy, like that of all the rest of the Monkshaven world, was in favour of Daniel Robson; and his daughter might place her dripping cloak this night wherever she would, for Phoebe.
Sylvia found her mother still sitting on the chair next the door, where she had first placed herself on entering the room.
'I'll gi'e you some tea, mother,' said she, struck with the shrunken look of Bell's face.