“I was talking to Mrs Prawle about it last even, sir.”
“What! you were over at the Cove?” said Geoffrey, eagerly. “How was poor Madge?”
“Very sadly, sir, they say. You haven’t been over for some days.”
“I? No, of course not,” said Geoffrey, sharply. “What should I do there?”
“Mrs Prawle said that if you could not get a better place, they had their little parlour and the one room out of it to spare; and Bessie said she would tend you if you liked.”
“But, hang it, man! I couldn’t go there,” cried Geoffrey.
“I don’t see why, sir,” said Pengelly, simply. “I couldn’t go there now, or I’d give up my place to you, but you could.”
“Oh, no—impossible!”
“They’re wonderfully clean people, sir,” continued Pengelly, “and, though the furnishing’s humble, they’d make you very comfortable, for old Master Prawle’s seldom in the house, and it’s little you’d want it for except for your breakfast and to sleep.”
“But that poor girl’s there,” cried Geoffrey.