“Mother’s awake, Mr Trethick,” interposed Bess, as she saw her father’s wrath rising at Geoffrey’s bantering comment.
“I’ll come directly,” said Geoffrey, as he saw her appealing look. “There, I won’t joke you about your private affairs, Master Prawle. So you won’t tell me any thing about Wheal Carnac?”
“Not a word,” said the old man, angrily.
“Not this time,” said Geoffrey, rising, “but think it over. Now, Miss Bessie, how is our invalid to-day?”
Mrs Prawle’s face lit up as Geoffrey’s form darkened the door, and she held out her thin white hand eagerly, as, in his bluff way, her visitor asked after her health.
“Very sadly, sir, very sadly,” she said, turning a fresh article of attire and spreading it upon her knees; “but do you—do you want—I’m so glad to do a little to save being a burthen to them.”
“Want sweets?” said Geoffrey. “Yes, I’ve got a commission to spend a whole sixpence; and see here, Miss Bessie, above half are to be those transparent red gentlemen.”
He looked merrily in the girl’s face, little thinking of the pain he gave her, and how her woman’s vanity was touched by his utter indifference. She smiled back, however, filled a paper bag with what he required, and went out to resume her knitting by the door, while Geoffrey sat on chatting, and listening to the poor woman’s plaints.
“She’s such a good girl, my Bess,” she said, proudly, as her mother’s heart throbbed high at the thought of what a thing it would be if this well-spoken gentleman from London should take a fancy to her child, and raise her to his position.
“Yes, she seems to be,” said Geoffrey, little suspecting her thoughts.