Her mother had gone to the window again, and she was saying to herself, hurriedly and in a low voice, “No, you don’t know—­you don’t know:  why should you know?  That shameless creature!  And to drive by here!  She must have known I was here.  Oh, the shamelessness of the woman!”

She turned to Wenna again:  “Wenna, I thought Mr. Trelyon was here.  How long has he gone?  I want to see him most particularly—­most particularly, and only for a moment.  He is sure to know all the strangers at his hotel, is he not?  I want to ask him some questions.  Wenna, will you go at once and bid him come to see me for a moment?”

“Mother!” Wenna said.  How could she go to the hotel with such a message?

“Well, send a note to him, Wenna—­send him a note by the girl down stairs.  What harm is there in that?”

“Lie down, then, mother,” said the girl calmly, “and I will send a message to Mr. Trelyon.”

She drew her chair to the table, and her cheeks crimsoned to think of what he might imagine this letter to mean when he got the envelope in his hands.  Her fingers trembled as she wrote the date at the head of the note.  Then she came to the word “Dear,” and it seemed to her that if shame were a punishment, she was doing sufficient penance for her indiscretion of that morning.  Yet the note was not a compromising one.  It merely said—­

    “DEAR MR. TRELYON:  If you have a moment to spare, my mother
    would be most obliged to you if you would call on her.  I hope
    you will forgive the trouble.

    “Yours sincerely,
    WENNA ROSEWARNE.”

When the young man got that note—­he was just entering the hotel when the servant arrived—­he stared with surprise.  He told the girl he would call on Mrs. Rosewarne directly.  Then he followed her.

He never for a moment doubted that this note had reference to his own affairs.  Wenna had told her mother what had happened.  The mother wished to see him to ask him to cease visiting them.  Well, he was prepared for that.  He would ask Wenna to leave the room.  He would attack the mother boldly, and tell her what he thought of Mr. Roscorla.  He would appeal to her to save her daughter from the impending marriage.  He would win her over to be his secret ally and friend; and while nothing should be done precipitately to alarm Wenna or arouse her suspicions, might not these two carry the citadel of her heart in time, and hand over the keys to the rightful lord?  It was a pleasant speculation:  it was at least marked by that audacity that never wholly forsook Master Harry Trelyon.  Of course he was the rightful lord, ready to bid all false claimants, rivals and pretenders Beware!

And yet, as he walked up to the house, some little tremor of anxiety crept into his heart.  It was no mere game of brag in which he was engaged.  As he went into the parlor Wenna stepped quietly by him, her eyes downcast, and he knew that all he cared to look forward to in the world depended on the decision of that quiet little person with the sensitive mouth and the earnest eyes.  Fighting was not of much use there.