“No, no, of course not.”
“Don’t know that I’m going back at all,” he said. “Jabez and I haven’t seen much of each other lately. Think I shall stay.”
“Did—have—did you ever see much of Miss Blakeford?” I said, feeling conscious as I spoke that I was growing hot.
“Often,” said the old man, looking at me intently. “She often asked about you.”
“About me?” I said.
“Yes: how you got on, and whether you were coming back.”
“What is she like now?” I said. “Of course she is not a little girl now.”
“Little girl? No: I should think not. Grow’d into an angel, that’s what she is.”
I could not ask any more, but promising to go in and see him in the evening, I hurried off to the works, thinking that I should very much like to see Hetty Blakeford again, and wondering whether she would see much change in me.
In another hour Rowford was forgotten, and I was deep in the preparations for Hallett’s machine, which was rapidly approaching completion; while a fortnight later I was dining with Miss Carr, and bearing her the news of the successful point to which Hallett had climbed, making her flush with pleasure, as I told her that the machine was to be set up at Mr Ruddle’s place of business, and be tried there.