Goldsmith. 'Young men don't find it easy to settle to business.'
Albinia's heart smote her for not having thought more of her son's
rescuer, and she revolved what could or what might have been done.
It really was not easy to show him attention, considering Gilbert's
prejudice against his accent, and Mr. Kendal's dislike to an
interrupted evening, and all she could devise was a future call on
Miss Goldsmith. But for Maurice, it would have been a silent walk,
and though her mind was a little diverted by his gallant attempt to
bestride the largest pig in the farm-yard, she was sure Mr. Kendal
was musing on the same topic, and was not surprised when, as they
returned, he exclaimed, 'I have a great mind to go and see after that
poor lad.'
'This way, then,' said Albinia, turning down a narrow muddy street
parallel with the river.
'Impossible!' said Mr. Kendal; 'he can never live at the Wharves?'
'Yes,' said Albinia; 'he told me that he lodged with an old servant
of the Goldsmiths, Pratt's wife, at the Lower Wharf.'
She pointed to the name of Pratt over a shop-window in a house that
had once seen better days, but which looked so forlorn, that Mr.
Kendal would not look the slatternly maid in the face while so absurd
a question was asked as whether Mr. O'More lived there.
The girl, without further ceremony, took them up a dark stair, and
opened the door of a twilight room, where Albinia's first glimpse
showed her the young man with his head bent down on his arms on the
table, as close as possible to the forlorn, black fire, of the grim,
dull, sulky coal of the county, which had filled the room with smoke
and blacks.
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