Mr. Fogo stirred his tea
abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes were soaked, put one foot upon the
fender, and bent her gaze upon the fire.
"I would give something," observed Mr. Fogo suddenly, in desperate
reverie, "to know how other people manage it. It was moonlight when
I proposed to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I
remem--"
He looked up, and found her regarding him with eyes ablaze.
But luckily at this moment the door opened, and Caleb appeared.
He was evidently much agitated; but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful
figure in the armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared dumbly.
"I think," said Tamsin, "you had better put your master to bed."
"Mussy 'pon us, what's been doin'?"
Briefly she told as much as she knew. With each successive sentence
Caleb's mouth and eyes opened wider.
"And now," she ended, "as Peter and Paul have been waiting for their
dinner this half-hour, I will be going. Don't trouble to come with
me; but attend to your master. Good-morning, sir."
She dropped him a low curtsey and was gone. He started up.
"Where be goin', sir? Sit down; you'm not fit to stir."
But Mr. Fogo had passed him, and was out of the room in a moment.
In spite of the pain that racked every limb, he overtook Tamsin in
the porch.
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