He was early up next morning and down on the promenade, but the day was not likely to tempt Wenna to come out just then.  A gray fog hung over land and sea, the sea itself being a dull, leaden plain.  Trelyon walked about, however, talking to everybody, as was his custom; and everybody said the fog would clear and a fine day follow.  This, in fact, happened, and still Wenna did not make her appearance.  The fog over the sea seemed to separate itself into clouds:  there was a dim, yellow light in the breaks.  These breaks widened:  there was a glimmer of blue.  Then on the leaden plain a glare of white light fell, twinkling in innumerable stars on the water.  Everything promised a clear, bright day.

As a last resource he thought he would go and get Juliott Penaluna, and persuade that young lady to come and be introduced to the Rosewarnes.  At first Miss Penaluna refused point-blank.  She asked him how he could expect her to do such a thing.  But then her cousin Harry happened to be civil, and indeed kind, in his manner to her, and when he was in one of those moods there was nothing she could refuse him.  She went and got ready with an air of resignation on her comely face.

“Mind, Harry, I am not responsible,” she said when she came back.  “I am afraid I shall get into awful trouble about it.”

“And who will interfere?” said the young man, just as if he were looking about for some one anxious to be thrown from the top of the tower on St. Michael’s Mount.

“I shall be accused of conniving with you, you know; and I think I am very good-natured to do so much for you, Harry.”

“I think you are, Jue:  you are a thoroughly good sort of girl when you like to be—­that’s a fact.  And now you will see whether what I have said about Miss Rosewarne is all gammon or not.”

“My poor boy, I wouldn’t say a word against her for the world.  Do I want my head wrenched off?  But if any one says anything to me about what I may do to-day, I shall have to tell the truth; and do you know what that is, Harry?  I do really believe you are in love with that girl, past all argument; and there never was one of your family who would listen to reason.  I know quite well what you will do.  If she cares ever so little for you, you will marry her in spite of everybody, and probably against her own wish:  if she doesn’t care for you, you will revenge yourself on the happy man of her choice, and probably murder him.  Well, it isn’t my fault.  I know what your mother will say.”

“Ah, you don’t know, Jue, what my mother thinks of her,” he said confidently.

“Oh yes, mothers think very well of a girl until they discover that she is going to marry their son.”

“Oh, stuff! why the inconsistency—­”

“It is the privilege of women to be inconsistent, Harry.  Your mother will detest that girl if you try to marry her.”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course not.  No man of your family cares for anything that interferes with his own wishes.  I suppose there’s no use in my trying to show you what a fearful amount of annoyance and trouble you are preparing for yourself?”