“How are you, Maddy?” said Luke Vine, gruffly; and he was going on to the bed, but Madelaine laid her hand upon his shoulder, leant towards him, and kissed him.
“Hah! yes, forgot,” he said, brushing her forehead roughly with his grey beard; and then, yielding to a sudden impulse, kissing the girl tenderly, “How I do hate girls!” he muttered to himself, as he went straight to the window and stood there for a few moments.
“Poor lad!” he said to himself. “Yes, hopeless, or a girl like that would have redeemed him.”
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.”