“Who did?” asked the doctor.
“Mr. ’Ymer.”
Darbyshire patted the little straw-coloured head, and went out. An additional offence in the eyes of Timberdale was that the child’s fair curls were just the pattern of those on the head of James the deceiver.
“Well, have you seen Mamie Lee?” asked Ben Rymer, who chanced to be standing at his shop-door after his dinner, when Darbyshire was passing by from paying his round of visits.
“Yes, I have seen her. There’s no radical disease.”
“Don’t you think her uncommonly ill?”
Darbyshire nodded. “But she’s not too far gone to be cured. She’d get well fast enough under favourable circumstances.”
“Meaning good food?”
“Meaning food and other things. Peace of mind, for instance. She is just fretting herself to death. Shame, remorse, and all that, have taken hold of her; besides grieving her heart out after the fellow.”