The Vicar's People

“Undoubtedly. One will stay three months, and then exchange; the other three weeks, and then probably go abroad.”

“Am I to take that as a prophecy?” said Rhoda, smiling.

“Yes; and mark its fulfilment,” he replied, trying to speak lightly.

“I think differently,” said Rhoda. “As to Mr Lee, I will hazard no conjecture; but Mr Trethick seems to me the kind of man who will force his way by sheer energy.”

Tregenna’s eyes glistened as he watched the face before him with jealous suspicion, but it was as placid and emotionless as could be.

“Do you think so?”

“I do indeed,” replied Rhoda.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said. “He is an interesting-looking youth.”

He felt ready to bite off his own tongue as he uttered this sneer, which escaped him in the bitterness of his spirit, and he awoke to the falseness of the step he had taken by the look of surprise and resentment that appeared in Rhoda’s face.

“Then we are to be friends,” he hastened to say eagerly; “always to be the best of friends?”

“Yes, Mr Tregenna,” replied Rhoda, coldly; and their tête-à-tête was ended by the entry of the party from the garden.

Chapter Thirteen

A Visit Underground

“Well, boy!”

“Well, old gentleman!”

The old gentleman, to wit, Uncle Paul, very yellow, very clean-shaven, and carefully got up, seemed disposed to resent this bluff manner of address; but he swallowed his annoyance with a gulp, thumped his cane on the gravel, and went on, —

“Up early, then. The early bird gets the first pick of the worms.”

“Yes, and stands the best chance of being caught by a prowling cat,” said Geoffrey.

“Never mind; get up early and work. Be industrious, and save your money. That’s the way to get on. Take care of the pennies; the pounds will take care of themselves.”

“Nonsense!” replied Geoffrey. “While you are scraping for pennies, you are missing your pounds.”

“Rubbish!” said the old man, sharply. “Get up early, sir, and work. Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, and wealthy, and wise.”

“Which is duly proved, as Punch says,” laughed Geoffrey, “by the enormous fortunes accumulated, the health enjoyed, and the wisdom displayed by chimney-sweeps, and other people who rise before the lark.”

“Why, you’re a sceptic, sir,” said the old man, showing his yellow teeth. “Do you know that’s a time-honoured proverb?”

“Yes; but I don’t believe in time-honoured proverbs,” replied Geoffrey. “Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, and wealthy, and wise, indeed!”

“And you are neither of the two last,” chuckled Uncle Paul, “even if you are the first.”

“Quite right, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, good-humouredly; “but I get up early on principle.”

“Well, then, you didn’t have too much wine last night?”

“No.”

“Dine with Penwynn?”

“I did.”

“Any one else there?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“A Mr Tregenna. Like to know what we had for dinner?”

“No?” roared Uncle Paul. “Hang the dinner, sir. Any one else there?”

“The new vicar.”

“Hang the new vicar. The other fellow had some sense. He never asked me why I didn’t go to church.”

“Don’t you go?”

“I? no. It’s very odd,” said the old man, grimly; “but I always have a fit of bile coming on about Saturday night, and it lasts all Sunday. So you saw Tregenna?”

“Yes, I saw Mr Tregenna.”

“Slimy serpent. Hang him.”

“By all means, if you like,” said Geoffrey, laughing, for the choleric ways and speeches of the old man amused him.

“What did you think of the daughter, eh?” said the old fellow, with a croak that was evidently intended to do duty for a chuckle.

“Very nice, sensible girl.”

“Oh! you think so, do you?”

“I do certainly.”

“Marry her,” said Uncle Paul, giving him a poke with his cane. “Plenty of money. Couldn’t do better.”

“But she could,” replied Geoffrey, laughing. “No, old gentleman, I’m not a marrying man.”

“Or look here,” chuckled the old man, “I can find you a wife. No need though, she’ll fall in love with you herself without asking. Lovely woman, sir. Martha – Martha Pavey. Patty you know, but she’s not plump. He! he! he! Well matured and has a little income of her own. She isn’t above forty-four. Good-looking once. Nice shaped mouth till she set up in it a couple of rows of enamelled tombstones to the memory of so many departed teeth. Looks hard and unkissable now. I laughed at ’em when I saw ’em first. Never forgiven me since, and she always looks at me as if she would bite. Poor thing! Thinks I didn’t detect ’em, and goes about complaining of toothache.”

“Poor woman,” said Geoffrey.