“Good-morning, Miss Penwynn, I have an appointment now. Let me say good-by though, with a compliment.”
“Please don’t,” said Rhoda.
“But I will,” he said, laughing, “I only wanted to say that I admire your early rising ways.”
Then nodding in his frank, cheery way, he started off back towards the ruined mine, walking quickly till the acorn barnacles upon the rocks suggested the advisability of putting on his socks and boots, which he rapidly did.
“What a Goth she must have thought me!” he said, laughing. “Well, can’t help it if she did.”
Then starting off once more, he turned a corner and could see a short, thick-set figure advancing, and waved his hand, to see a cap held up in return.
“Morning, Pengelly,” he cried, as he met the miner. “Did you bring a pick?”
“No, sir, it looked too business-like,” said Pengelly, “and I thought we’d keep the matter quiet. But is that all over, sir?”
“What?” said Geoffrey.
“That last night work, sir. I haven’t slep’ a wink for thinking of it.”