The malice of this suggestion was so apparent that the young gentleman in front could not help grinning at it:  fortunately, his face could not be seen by his rival.  What he thought of the whole arrangement can only be imagined.  And so, as it happened, Mr. Roscorla and his friend Mabyn were dropped at the inn, while Harry Trelyon drove his grandmother up and on to the Hall.

“Well, Harry,” the old lady said, “I am glad to be able to breathe at last:  I thought you two were going to kill each other.”

“There is no fear of that,” the young man said:  “that is not the way in which this affair has to be settled.  It is entirely a matter for her decision; and look how everything is in his favor.  I am not even allowed to say a word to her; and even if I could, he is a deal cleverer than me in argument.  He would argue my head off in half an hour.”

“But you don’t turn a girl’s heart round by argument, Harry.  When a girl has to choose between a young lover and an elderly one, it isn’t always good sense that directs her choice.  Is Miss Wenna Rosewarne at all like her sister?”

“She’s not such a tomboy,” he said, “but she is quite as straightforward and proud, and quick to tell you what is the right thing to do.  There’s no sort of shamming tolerated by these two girls.  But then Wenna is gentler and quieter, and more soft and lovable, than Mabyn—­in my fancy, you know; and she is more humorous and clever, so that she never gets into those school-girl rages.  But it is really a shame to compare them like that; and, indeed, if any one said the least thing against one of these girls, the other would precious soon make him regret the day he was born.  You don’t catch me doing that with either of them.  I’ve had a warning already when I hinted that Mabyn might probably manage to keep her husband in good order.  And so she would, I believe, if the husband were not of the right sort; but when she is really fond of anybody, she becomes their slave out and out.  There is nothing she wouldn’t do for her sister; and her sister thinks there’s nobody in the world like Mabyn.  So you see—­”

He stopped in the middle of this sentence.

“Grandmother,” he said, almost in a whisper, “here she is coming along the road.”

“Miss Rosewarne?”

“Yes:  shall I introduce you?”

“If you like.”

Wenna was coming down the steep road between the high hedges with a small girl on each side of her, whom she was leading by the hand.  She was gayly talking to them:  you could hear the children laughing at what she said.  Old Mrs. Trelyon came to the conclusion that this merry young lady, with the light and free step, the careless talk and fresh color in her face, was certainly not dying of any love-affair.

“Take the reins, grandmother, for a minute.”

He had leapt down into the road, and was standing before her almost ere she had time to recognize him.  For a moment a quick gleam of gladness shone on her face:  then, almost instinctively, she seemed to shrink from him, and she was reserved, distant, and formal.