“And what is he?” he cried, mad with wrath and jealousy.  “An ignorant booby! a ploughboy! a lout who has neither the manners of a gentleman nor the education of a day-laborer.”

“Yes, you may well say such things of him now,” said she with her eyes flashing, “when his back is turned.  You would not say so if he were here.  But he—­yes, if he were here—­he would tell you what he thinks of you, for he is a gentleman, and not a coward.”

Angry as he was, Mr. Roscorla was astounded.  The fire in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the impetuosity of her voice—­were these the patient Wenna of old?  But a girl betrays herself sometimes if she happens to have to defend her lover.

“Oh it is shameful of you to say such things!” she said.  “And you know they are not true.  There is not any one I have ever seen who is so manly and frank and unselfish as Mr. Trelyon—­not any one; and if I have seen that, if I have admired it too much, well, that is a great misfortune, and I have to suffer for it.”

“To suffer? yes,” said he bitterly.  “That is a pretty form of suffering that makes you plan a runaway marriage—­a marriage that would bring into your possession the largest estates in the north of Cornwall.  A very pretty form of suffering!  May I ask when the experiment is to be repeated?”

“You may insult me as you like—­I am only a woman,” she said.

“Insult you?” he cried with fresh vehemence.  “Is it insult to speak the truth?  Yesterday forenoon, when I saw you, you were all smiles and smoothness.  When I spoke of our marriage you made no objection.  But all the same you knew that at night—­”

“I did not know—­I did not know,” she said.  “You ought to believe me when I tell you I knew no more about it than you did.  When I met him there at night, it was all so sudden, so unexpected, I scarcely knew what I said; but now—­but now I have time to think.  Oh, Mr. Roscorla, don’t think that I do not regret it.  I will do anything you ask me—­I will promise what you please—­indeed, I will undertake never to see him again as long as I live in this world; only, you won’t ask me to keep my promise to you?”

He made no reply to this offer, for a step outside the door caused him to mutter something very like an oath between his teeth.  The door was thrown open.  Mabyn marched in, a little pale, but very erect.

“Mabyn, leave us alone for a moment or two,” said Wenna, turning away so as to hide the tears on her face.

“I will not.  I want to speak a word or two to Mr. Roscorla.”

“Mabyn, I want you to go away just now.”

Mabyn went over to her sister and took her by the hand:  “Wenna, dear, go away to your own room.  You’ve had quite enough—­you are trembling all over.  I suppose he’ll make me tremble next.”

“Really, I think your interference is lather extraordinary, Miss Mabyn,” said Mr. Roscorla, striving to contain his rage.