'Well, I'll think about it, and see what can be done for you. In the meantime I'll give you a trifle to ward off the rheumatism.'
He opened his purse, and gave the woman a bank note, part of an advance made him by Mr. Pergament that morning. The gipsy uttered her usual torrent of blessings—the gratitude wherewith she was wont to salute her benefactors.
'Have you ever been in Cornwall?' asked Churchill.
'Lord love your honour! there isn't a nook or a corner in all England where I haven't been!'
'Good. If you happen to be in Cornwall any time during the next three months, you may look me up at Penwyn Manor.'
'Bless you, my generous gentleman, it won't be very long before you see me.'
'Whenever you please,' returned Churchill, with that air of well-bred indifference which he wore as a badge of his class. 'Good afternoon.'
He turned to go back to the city, leaving the woman standing alone by the river brink, looking after him; lost in thought, or lost in wonder.