“The man’s in Jamaica?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you going down to-day?”

“Only for a brief visit:  I’ve been a long time away.”

The old lady sat silent for some time.  She had heard of the whole affair before, but she wished to have the rumor confirmed.  And at first she was sorely troubled that her grandson should contemplate marrying the daughter of an innkeeper, however intelligent, amiable and well-educated the young lady might be; but she knew the Trelyons pretty well, and knew that if he had made up his mind to it, argument and remonstrance would be useless.  Moreover, she had a great affection for this young man, and was strongly disposed to sympathize with any wish of his.  She grew in time to have a great interest in Miss Wenna Rosewarne:  at this moment the chief object of her visit was to make her acquaintance.  She grew to pity young Trelyon in his disappointment, and was inclined to believe that the person in Jamaica was something of a public enemy.  The fact was, her mere sympathy for her grandson would have converted her to a sympathy with the wildest project he could have formed.

“Dear! dear!” she said, “what awkward things engagements are when they stand in your way!  Shall I tell you the truth?  I was just about as good as engaged to John Cholmondeley when I gave myself up to your grandfather.  But there! when a girl’s heart pulls her one way, and her promise pulls her another way, she needs to be a very firm-minded young woman if she means to hold fast.  John Cholmondeley was as good-hearted a young fellow as ever lived—­yes, I will say that for him—­and I was mightily sorry for him; but—­but you see, that’s how things come about.  Dear! dear! that evening at Bath—­I remember it as well as if it was yesterday; and it was only two months after I had run away with your grandfather.  Yes, there was a ball that night; and we had kept very quiet, you know, after coming back; but this time your grandfather had set his heart on taking me out before everybody, and you know he had to have his way.  As sure as I live, Harry, the first man I saw was John Cholmondeley—­just as white as a ghost:  they said he had been drinking hard and gambling pretty nearly the whole of these two months.  He wouldn’t come near me:  he wouldn’t take the least notice of me.  The whole night he pretended to be vastly gay and merry:  he danced with everybody, but his eyes never came near me.  Well—­you know what a girl is—­that vexed me a little bit; for there never was a man such a slave to a woman as he was to me.  Dear! dear! the way my father used to laugh at him, until he got wild with anger!  Well, I went up to him at last, when he was by himself, and I said to him, just in a careless way, you know, ‘John, aren’t you going to dance with me to-night?’ Well, do you know, his face got quite white again; and he said—­I remember the very words, all as cold as ice—­’Madam,’ says he, ’I am glad to find that your hurried