CHAPTER XXIV.

THE CUT DIRECT.

"Well, mother," Miss Wenna said deliberately after he had gone, "I never did see you so thoroughly enjoy a whole day."

"I was thinking the same about you, Wenna," the mother answered with an amused look.

"That is true enough, mother," the girl confessed in her simple way. "He is so good-natured, so full of spirits and careless, that one gets quite as careless and happy as himself. It is a great comfort, mother, to be with anybody who doesn't watch the meaning of every expression you use: don't you think so? And I hope I wasn't rude: do you think I was rude?"

"Why, child, I don't think you could be rude to a fox that was eating your chickens. You would ask him to take a chair and not hurry himself."

"Well, I must write to Mabyn now," Wenna said with a business-like air, "and thank her for posting me this Prayer-book. I suppose she didn't know I had my small one with me."

She took up the book, for she was sitting on the chair that Harry Trelyon had just vacated. She had no sooner done so than she caught sight of the sheet of paper with the dried flower and the inscription in Mabyn's handwriting. She stared, with something of a look of fear on her face. "Mother," she said in quite an altered voice, "did you notice if Mr. Trelyon was looking at this Prayer-book?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," Mrs. Rosewarne said. "I should think he went over every book on the table."

The girl said nothing, but she took the book in her hand and carried it up to her own room. She stood for a moment irresolute: then she took the sheet of paper with the flowers on it, and tore it in a hundred pieces and threw them into the empty grate. Then she cried a little, as a girl must; and finally went down again and wrote a letter to Mabyn which rather astonished that young lady.

"MY DEAR MABYN" (so the letter ran): I am exceedingly angry with you. I did not think you were capable of such folly: I might call it by a worse name if I thought you really meant what you seem to mean. I have just torn up the worthless scrap of flower you so carefully preserved for me into a thousand pieces; but you will be glad to know that in all probability Mr. Trelyon saw it on the paper, and the initials too which you put there. I cannot tell you how pained and angry I am. If he did place that flower intentionally among the primroses, it was most impertinent of him; but he is often impertinent in joking. What must he think of me that I should seem to have taken this seriously, and treasured up that miserable and horrid piece of weed, and put his initials below it, and the important date? You put thoughts into my head that cover me with shame. I should not be fit to live if I were what you take me to be. If I thought there was another human being in the world who could imagine or suspect what you apparently desire, I would resolve this moment never to see Mr. Trelyon again; and much harm that would do either him or me! But I am too proud to think that any one could imagine such a thing. Nor did I expect that to come from my own sister, who ought to know what my true relations are with regard to Mr. Trelyon. I like him very much, as I told him to his face two days before we left Eglosilyan; _and that will show you what our relations are_. I think he is a very frank, generous and good young man, and a clever and cheerful companion; and my mother has to-day to thank him for about the pleasantest little trip she has ever enjoyed. But as for your wishing me to preserve a flower that he sent, or that you think he sent to me, why, I feel my face burning at the thought of what you suggest. And what can I say to him now, supposing he has seen it? Can I tell him that my own sister thought such things of me? Perhaps, after all, the simplest way to set matters right will be for me to break off the acquaintance altogether; and that will show him whether I was likely to have treasured up a scrap of London pride in my Prayer-book.

"I am your loving sister,

"WENNA ROSEWARNE."

Meanwhile, Harry Trelyon was walking up and down the almost empty thoroughfare by the side of the sea, the stars overhead shining clearly in the dark night, the dimly-seen waves falling monotonously on the shelving beach. "To keep a flower, that is nothing," he was saying to himself. "All girls do that, no matter who gives it to them. I suppose she has lots more, all with the proper initials and date attached."

It was not an agreeable reflection; he turned to other matters: "If she were to care for me a little bit, would it be mean of me to try to carry her off from that man? Is it possible that he has the same feeling for her that I have? In that case it would be mean. Now, when I think of her, the whole world seems filled with her presence somehow, and everything is changed. When I hear the sea in the morning I think of her, and wonder where she is; when I see a fine day I hope she is enjoying it somewhere; the whole of Penzance has become magical. It is no longer the same town. I used to come to it and never see it in the old days, when one was busy about stables and the pilchard fishing and the reports of the quarries. Now the whole of Penzance has got a sort of charm in it since Wenna Rosewarne has come to it. I look at the houses, and wonder if the people inside know anybody fit to compare with her; and one becomes grateful to the good weather for shining round about her and making her happy. I suppose the weather knows what she deserves."

Then he began to argue the question as to whether it would be fair and honorable to seek to take away from another man the woman who had pledged herself to marry him; and of course an easy and definite decision is sure to be arrived at when counsel on both sides and jury and judges sitting _in banco_ are all one person, who conducts and closes the case as it suits himself. He began by assuming such facts as suited his arguments, and ended by selecting and confirming such arguments as suited himself. Wenna Rosewarne cared nothing for Mr. Roscorla. She would be miserable if she married him: her own sister was continually hinting as much. Mr. Roscorla cared nothing for her except in so far as she might prove a pretty housewife for him. The selfishness that would sacrifice for its own purposes a girl's happiness was of a peculiarly despicable sort which ought to be combated, and deserved no mercy. Therefore, and because of all these things, Harry Trelyon was justified in trying to win Wenna Rosewarne's love.

One by one the people who had been strolling up and down the dark thoroughfare left it: he was almost alone now. He walked along to the house in which the Rosewarnes were. There was no light in any of the windows. But might she not be sitting up there by herself, looking out on the starlit heavens and listening to the waves? He wished to be able to say good-night to her once more.

How soon might she be up and out on the morrow? Early in the morning, when the young day was rising over the gray sea, and the sea-winds coming freshly in as if they were returning from the cold night? If he could but see her at daybreak, with all the world asleep around them, and with only themselves to watch the growing wonders of the dawn, might not he say something to her then that she would not be vexed to hear, and persuade her that a new sort of life lay before her if she would only enter it along with him? That was the notion that he continually dwelt on for self-justification when he happened to take the trouble to justify himself. The crisis of this girl's life was approaching. Other errors might be retrieved--that one, once committed, never. If he could only see her now, this is what he would say: "We can only live but once, Wenna; and this for us two would be life--our only chance of it. Whatever else may happen, that is no matter: let us make sure of this one chance, and face the future together--you full of sweetness and trust, I having plenty of courage for both. We will treat objectors and objections as they may arise--afterward: perhaps they will be prudent and keep out of our way." And indeed he convinced himself that this, and this only, was Wenna Rosewarne's chance of securing happiness for her life, assuming, in a way, that he had love as well as courage sufficient for both.

He was early up next morning and down on the promenade, but the day was not likely to tempt Wenna to come out just then. A gray fog hung over land and sea, the sea itself being a dull, leaden plain. Trelyon walked about, however, talking to everybody, as was his custom; and everybody said the fog would clear and a fine day follow. This, in fact, happened, and still Wenna did not make her appearance. The fog over the sea seemed to separate itself into clouds: there was a dim, yellow light in the breaks. These breaks widened: there was a glimmer of blue. Then on the leaden plain a glare of white light fell, twinkling in innumerable stars on the water. Everything promised a clear, bright day.

As a last resource he thought he would go and get Juliott Penaluna, and persuade that young lady to come and be introduced to the Rosewarnes. At first Miss Penaluna refused point-blank. She asked him how he could expect her to do such a thing. But then her cousin Harry happened to be civil, and indeed kind, in his manner to her, and when he was in one of those moods there was nothing she could refuse him. She went and got ready with an air of resignation on her comely face.

"Mind, Harry, I am not responsible," she said when she came back. "I am afraid I shall get into awful trouble about it."

"And who will interfere?" said the young man, just as if he were looking about for some one anxious to be thrown from the top of the tower on St. Michael's Mount.

"I shall be accused of conniving with you, you know; and I think I am very good-natured to do so much for you, Harry."

"I think you are, Jue: you are a thoroughly good sort of girl when you like to be--that's a fact. And now you will see whether what I have said about Miss Rosewarne is all gammon or not."

"My poor boy, I wouldn't say a word against her for the world. Do I want my head wrenched off? But if any one says anything to me about what I may do to-day, I shall have to tell the truth; and do you know what that is, Harry? I do really believe you are in love with that girl, past all argument; and there never was one of your family who would listen to reason. I know quite well what you will do. If she cares ever so little for you, you will marry her in spite of everybody, and probably against her own wish: if she doesn't care for you, you will revenge yourself on the happy man of her choice, and probably murder him. Well, it isn't my fault. I know what your mother will say."

"Ah, you don't know, Jue, what my mother thinks of her," he said confidently.

"Oh yes, mothers think very well of a girl until they discover that she is going to marry their son."

"Oh, stuff! why the inconsistency--"

"It is the privilege of women to be inconsistent, Harry. Your mother will detest that girl if you try to marry her."

"I don't care."

"Of course not. No man of your family cares for anything that interferes with his own wishes. I suppose there's no use in my trying to show you what a fearful amount of annoyance and trouble you are preparing for yourself?"

"None. I'll take it as it comes: I'm not afraid."

They got down to the promenade; the forenoon was now bright and cheerful; a good many folks had come out to enjoy the sunlight and the cool sea-breeze. Miss Juliott was not at all disinclined to walk there with her handsome cousin, though he had forgotten his gloves and was clearly not paying her very special attention.

"Jue," he said suddenly, "I can see Miss Rosewarne right at the end of this road: can't you?"

"I haven't got the eyes of a hawk, you stupid boy!" his cousin said.

"Oh, but I can recognize her dress a dozen times as far away. These are her pet colors at present--a soft cream-color and black, with bits of dark red. Can you see now?"

"I never saw you pay the least attention before to a lady's dress."

"Because you don't know how _she_ dresses," he said proudly.

She was coming along the Parade all alone.

"Well, it _is_ a pretty dress," Miss Juliott said, "and I like the look of her face, Harry. You can't expect one girl to say any more than that of another girl, can you?"

"This is a very nice way of being able to introduce you," he said. "I suppose you will be able to chaperon each other afterward, when her mother isn't able to go out?"

Wenna was coming quietly along, apparently rather preoccupied. Sometimes she looked out, with her dark, earnest and yet wistful eyes, at the great plain of water quivering in the sunshine: she paid little heed to the people who went by. When at length she did see Harry Trelyon, she was quite near him, and she had just time to glance for a moment at his companion. The next moment--he could not tell how it all happened--she passed him with a slight bow of recognition, courteous enough, but nothing more. There was no especial look of friendliness in her eyes.

He stood there rather bewildered.

"That is about as good as the cut direct, Harry," his cousin said. "Come along--don't stand there."

"Oh, but there's some mistake, Jue," he said.

"A girl never does a thing of that sort by mistake. Either she is vexed with you for walking with me--and that is improbable, for I doubt whether she saw me--or she thinks the ardor of your acquaintance should be moderated; and there I should agree with her. You don't seem so vexed as one might have expected, Harry."

"Vexed!" he said. "Why, can't you tell by that girl's face that she could do nothing capricious or unkind? Of course she has a reason; and I will find it out."