He turned back from the window.
“Room too hot and stuffy,” he said. “Well, how are you, John?”
“Getting well fast,” replied Van Heldre, shaking hands. “Splendid fish that was you sent me to-day; delicious.”
“Humph! all very fine! Shilling or fifteen-pence out of pocket,” grumbled Uncle Luke.
“Get out!” said Van Heldre, after a keen look at George Vine. “Poll Perrow wouldn’t have given you more than ninepence for a fish like that. It’s wholesale, Luke, wholesale.”
“Ah! you may grin and wink at George,” grumbled Uncle Luke, “but times are getting hard.”
“They are, old fellow, and we shall be having you in the workhouse, if we can’t manage to get you to the Victoria Park place.”
“Here, come away, George,” snarled Uncle Luke. “He’s better. Beginning to sneer. Temper’s getting very bad now, I suppose, my dear?” he added to Madelaine.
“Terrible. Leads me a dreadful life, Uncle Luke,” she said, putting her arm round Van Heldre’s neck to lay her cheek against his brow for a moment or two before turning to leave the room.
“Cant and carny,” said Uncle Luke. “Don’t you believe her, John Van; she’ll be coming to you for money to-morrow—bless her,” he added sotto voce; then aloud, “What now?”