“Are all you people mad here upon questions relating to the sexes? Why, my good fellow, where do you think I’ve been?”
“You said—to Prawle’s.”
“Yes, of course; but what for?”
“You’ve been to see her. You’ve been again and again, master, till I can bear it no more. Oh! Master Trethick,” he cried, piteously, “it may be play and trifling with you, but it’s killing me.”
“Amos Pengelly,” cried Geoffrey, laying his hand on the miner’s shoulder, “if you think I go over yonder to see Prawle’s daughter you, never made a greater mistake in your life.”
Amos drew back and looked full in his eyes, which never flinched for a moment, but frankly returned the gaze.
“Say that again,” said the miner, hoarsely.
“I won’t,” cried Geoffrey. “Hang it, man! there are bounds to every thing. It’s absurd, it’s—”
He stopped short as he saw the man’s emotion, and said kindly, as he held out his hand,—
“Pengelly, my lad, as I am a man, I never bestowed a thought on Bessie Prawle, but have been there to sit half-an-hour with her poor sick mother.”