“It’s of no use. I can’t argue with them,” thought Geoffrey.
“Here, Mrs Prawle,” he said aloud, “will you kindly see that every thing possible is done for that poor girl. You will be at some expense, of course, till Mrs Mullion and her uncle fetch them home. Take that.”
He laid a five-pound note on the table, and walked straight out, Bessie drawing on one side to let him pass, her face looking cold and thin, and her eyes resting on the floor.
“Pleasant,” muttered Geoffrey, and with an abrupt “Good-morning” he went out to where old Prawle was at work.
“Here, walk part of the way along the cliff with me,” he said. “Come away from the cottage.”
The old man looked up at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, and then followed him for a couple of hundred yards, and stopped.
“Won’t that do?” he said. “Are you going to give me some money for them two?”
“I’ve left five pounds with your wife,” said Geoffrey, sharply.
“Oh, come, that’s handsome,” said the old man. “But you couldn’t have done less.”
“Look here,” said Geoffrey, sharply, “you know what I told you last night.”