CHAPTER XXXI.

“Blue is the sweetest.”

The following correspondence may now, without any great breach of confidence, be published: 

    “Eglosilyan, Monday morning.

Dear Mr. Trelyon:  Do you know what Mr. Roscorla says in the letter Wenna has just received?  Why, that you could not get up that ring by dredging, but that you must have bought the other one at Plymouth.  Just think of the wicked old wretch fancying such things!  As if you would give a ring of emeralds to any one!  Tell me that this is a story, that I may bid Wenna contradict him at once.  I have got no patience with a man who is given over to such mean suspicions.  Yours faithfully,

    Mabyn Rosewarne.”

    “London, Tuesday night.

Dear Mabyn:  I am sorry to say Mr. Roscorla is right.  It was a foolish trick—­I did not think it would be successful, for my hitting the size of her finger was rather a stroke of luck—­but I thought it would amuse her if she did find it out after an hour or two.  I was afraid to tell her afterward, for she would think it impertinent.  What’s to be done?  Is she angry about it.  Yours sincerely,

    Harry Trelyon.”

    “Eglosilyan.

Dear Mr. Trelyon:  How could you do such a thing?  Why, to give Wenna, of all people in the world, an emerald ring, just after I had got Mr. Roscorla to give her one, for bad luck to himself!  Why, how could you do it?  I don’t know what to say about it, unless you demand it back, and send her one with sapphires in it at once.

    Yours, M.R.

    P.S.—­As quick as ever you can.”

    “LONDON, Friday evening.

    Dear Mabyn:  Why, you know she wouldn’t take a sapphire ring or
    any other from me.  Yours faithfully,

    H. TRELYON.”

“MY DEAR MR. TRELYON:  Pray don’t lose any time in writing, but send me at once a sapphire ring for Wenna.  You have hit the size once, and you can do it again; but in any case I have marked the size on this bit of thread, and the jeweler will understand.  And please, dear Mr. Trelyon, don’t get a very expensive one, but a plain, good one, just what a poor person like me would buy for a present if I wanted to.  And post it at once, please:  this is very important.  Yours most sincerely,

    MABYN ROSEWARNE.”

In consequence of this correspondence Mabyn one morning proceeded to seek out her sister, whom she found busy with the accounts of the sewing club, which was now in a flourishing condition.  Mabyn seemed a little shy.  “Oh, Wenna,” she said, “I have something to tell you.  You know I wrote to ask Mr. Trelyon about the ring.  Well, he’s very, very sorry—­oh, you don’t know how sorry he is, Wenna—­but it’s quite true.  He thought he’d please you by getting the ring, and that you would make a joke of it when you found it out; and then he was afraid to speak of it afterward.”