“Does he?” said Rhoda, quietly.
“Yes, very often; but Prawle don’t like it, though I can’t see why, my dear, for no young man could be nicer; and if he has took a fancy to our Bess, and should marry her, it would be the happiest day of my life.”
“But—do you think—”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the invalid, glad of an opportunity to prattle on; “she’s a good and a handsome girl, as she showed in the way she sent that Mr Tregenna about his business, and it was a merciful thing that Prawle never did him a mischief; he’s that violent, and Mr Tregenna was always hanging about to see our Bess.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rhoda, colouring, “I know about that;” and then, her woman’s curiosity prevailing over her dislike to hear gossip, she continued, “but you don’t think Mr Trethick comes to—”
“See our Bess, my dear? Well, I can’t say. He’s quite a gentleman, and I’m sure if he does he means honourable to her.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Rhoda, hastily, “but he is quite a stranger.”
“Yes, my dear, and it may be all my fancy; but gentlemen do sometimes marry poor girls—not that my Bess is poor, or will be poor,” she said, proudly. “There’s many a farmer’s or captain’s daughter will be worse off than she.”
“But I thought,” exclaimed Rhoda, “that Bess had a sweetheart—that lame man, Pengelly?”
“No,” said the invalid, “I don’t think that’s any thing. He’s a good young man—so religious, and sings and prays beautifully. He prayed here by me one Sunday for a whole hour; but it is not nature that my Bess should care for the likes of him, even if he does worship the ground she walks upon.”