It was a beautiful, fresh morning, the far-off line of the sea still and blue, the sunlight lighting up the wonderful masses of primroses along the tall banks, the air sweet with the resinous odor of the gorse.  Mrs. Trelyon looked with a gentle and childlike pleasure on all these things, and was fairly inclined to be very friendly with the young gentleman beside her.  But he was more than ordinarily silent and morose.  Mrs. Trelyon knew she had done nothing to offend him, and thought it hard she should be punished for the sins of anybody else.

He spoke scarcely a word to her as the carriage rolled along the silent highways.  He drove rapidly and carelessly down the steep thoroughfare of Eglosilyan, although there were plenty of loose stones about.  Then he pulled sharply up in front of the inn, and George Rosewarne appeared.

“Mr. Rosewarne, let me introduce you to my mother.  She wants to see Miss Wenna for a few moments, if she is not engaged.”

Mr. Rosewarne took off his cap, assisted Mrs. Trelyon to alight, and then showed her the way into the house.

“Won’t you come in, Harry?” his mother said.

“No.”

A man had come out to the horses’ heads.

“You leave ’em alone,” said the young gentleman:  “I sha’n’t get down.”

Mabyn came out, her bright young face full of pleasure.

“How do you do, Mabyn?” he said coldly, and without offering to shake hands.

“Won’t you come in for a minute?” she said, rather surprised.

“No, thank you.  Don’t you stay out in the cold:  you’ve got nothing round your neck.”

Mabyn went away without saying a word, but thinking that the coolness of the air was much less apparent than that of his manner and speech.

Being at length left to himself, he turned his attention to the horses before him, and eventually, to pass the time, took out his pocket-handkerchief and began to polish the silver on the handle of the whip.  He was disturbed in this peaceful occupation by a very timid voice, which said, “Mr. Trelyon.”  He turned round and found that Wenna’s wistful face was looking up to him, with a look in it partly of friendly gladness and partly of anxiety and entreaty.  “Mr. Trelyon,” she said, with her eyes cast down, “I think you are offended with me.  I am very sorry:  I beg your forgiveness.”

The reins were fastened up in a minute, and he was down in the road beside her.  “Now look here, Wenna,” he said.  “What could you mean by treating me so unfairly?  I don’t mean in being vexed with me, but in shunting me off, as it were, instead of having it out at once.  I don’t think it was fair.”

“I am very sorry,” she said.  “I think I was very wrong, but you don’t know what a girl feels about such things.  Will you come into the inn?”

“And leave my horses?  No,” he said, good-naturedly.  “But as soon as I get that fellow out, I will; so you go in at once, and I’ll follow you directly.  And mind, Wenna, don’t you be so silly again, or you and I may have a real quarrel; and I know that would break your heart.”