THE CUT DIRECT.
"Well, mother," Miss Wenna said deliberately after he had gone, "I never
did see you so thoroughly enjoy a whole day."
"I was thinking the same about you, Wenna," the mother answered with an
amused look.
"That is true enough, mother," the girl confessed in her simple way. "He
is so good-natured, so full of spirits and careless, that one gets quite
as careless and happy as himself. It is a great comfort, mother, to be
with anybody who doesn't watch the meaning of every expression you use:
don't you think so? And I hope I wasn't rude: do you think I was rude?"
"Why, child, I don't think you could be rude to a fox that was eating
your chickens. You would ask him to take a chair and not hurry himself."
"Well, I must write to Mabyn now," Wenna said with a business-like air,
"and thank her for posting me this Prayer-book. I suppose she didn't
know I had my small one with me."
She took up the book, for she was sitting on the chair that Harry
Trelyon had just vacated. She had no sooner done so than she caught
sight of the sheet of paper with the dried flower and the inscription in
Mabyn's handwriting. She stared, with something of a look of fear on her
face. "Mother," she said in quite an altered voice, "did you notice if
Mr. Trelyon was looking at this Prayer-book?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," Mrs. Rosewarne said. "I should think he went
over every book on the table."
The girl said nothing, but she took the book in her hand and carried it
up to her own room. She stood for a moment irresolute: then she took the
sheet of paper with the flowers on it, and tore it in a hundred pieces
and threw them into the empty grate. Then she cried a little, as a girl
must; and finally went down again and wrote a letter to Mabyn which
rather astonished that young lady.
"MY DEAR MABYN" (so the letter ran): I am exceedingly angry with
you. I did not think you were capable of such folly: I might call
it by a worse name if I thought you really meant what you seem to
mean. I have just torn up the worthless scrap of flower you so
carefully preserved for me into a thousand pieces; but you will be
glad to know that in all probability Mr. Trelyon saw it on the
paper, and the initials too which you put there. I cannot tell you
how pained and angry I am. If he did place that flower
intentionally among the primroses, it was most impertinent of him;
but he is often impertinent in joking. What must he think of me
that I should seem to have taken this seriously, and treasured up
that miserable and horrid piece of weed, and put his initials below
it, and the important date? You put thoughts into my head that
cover me with shame. I should not be fit to live if I were what you
take me to be. If I thought there was another human being in the
world who could imagine or suspect what you apparently desire, I
would resolve this moment never to see Mr. Trelyon again; and much
harm that would do either him or me! But I am too proud to think
that any one could imagine such a thing. Nor did I expect that to
come from my own sister, who ought to know what my true relations
are with regard to Mr. Trelyon. I like him very much, as I told him
to his face two days before we left Eglosilyan; _and that will
show you what our relations are_. I think he is a very frank,
generous and good young man, and a clever and cheerful companion;
and my mother has to-day to thank him for about the pleasantest
little trip she has ever enjoyed. But as for your wishing me to
preserve a flower that he sent, or that you think he sent to me,
why, I feel my face burning at the thought of what you suggest. And
what can I say to him now, supposing he has seen it? Can I tell him
that my own sister thought such things of me? Perhaps, after all,
the simplest way to set matters right will be for me to break off
the acquaintance altogether; and that will show him whether I was
likely to have treasured up a scrap of London pride in my
Prayer-book.
"I am your loving sister,
"WENNA ROSEWARNE."
Meanwhile, Harry Trelyon was walking up and down the almost empty
thoroughfare by the side of the sea, the stars overhead shining clearly
in the dark night, the dimly-seen waves falling monotonously on the
shelving beach. "To keep a flower, that is nothing," he was saying to
himself. "All girls do that, no matter who gives it to them. I suppose
she has lots more, all with the proper initials and date attached."
It was not an agreeable reflection; he turned to other matters: "If she
were to care for me a little bit, would it be mean of me to try to carry
her off from that man? Is it possible that he has the same feeling for
her that I have? In that case it would be mean. Now, when I think of
her, the whole world seems filled with her presence somehow, and
everything is changed. When I hear the sea in the morning I think of
her, and wonder where she is; when I see a fine day I hope she is
enjoying it somewhere; the whole of Penzance has become magical. It is
no longer the same town. I used to come to it and never see it in the
old days, when one was busy about stables and the pilchard fishing and
the reports of the quarries. Now the whole of Penzance has got a sort of
charm in it since Wenna Rosewarne has come to it. I look at the houses,
and wonder if the people inside know anybody fit to compare with her;
and one becomes grateful to the good weather for shining round about her
and making her happy. I suppose the weather knows what she deserves."
Then he began to argue the question as to whether it would be fair and
honorable to seek to take away from another man the woman who had
pledged herself to marry him; and of course an easy and definite
decision is sure to be arrived at when counsel on both sides and jury
and judges sitting _in banco_ are all one person, who conducts and
closes the case as it suits himself. He began by assuming such facts as
suited his arguments, and ended by selecting and confirming such
arguments as suited himself. Wenna Rosewarne cared nothing for Mr.
Roscorla. She would be miserable if she married him: her own sister was
continually hinting as much. Mr. Roscorla cared nothing for her except
in so far as she might prove a pretty housewife for him. The selfishness
that would sacrifice for its own purposes a girl's happiness was of a
peculiarly despicable sort which ought to be combated, and deserved no
mercy. Therefore, and because of all these things, Harry Trelyon was
justified in trying to win Wenna Rosewarne's love.
One by one the people who had been strolling up and down the dark
thoroughfare left it: he was almost alone now. He walked along to the
house in which the Rosewarnes were. There was no light in any of the
windows. But might she not be sitting up there by herself, looking out
on the starlit heavens and listening to the waves? He wished to be able
to say good-night to her once more.
How soon might she be up and out on the morrow? Early in the morning,
when the young day was rising over the gray sea, and the sea-winds
coming freshly in as if they were returning from the cold night? If he
could but see her at daybreak, with all the world asleep around them,
and with only themselves to watch the growing wonders of the dawn, might
not he say something to her then that she would not be vexed to hear,
and persuade her that a new sort of life lay before her if she would
only enter it along with him? That was the notion that he continually
dwelt on for self-justification when he happened to take the trouble to
justify himself. The crisis of this girl's life was approaching. Other
errors might be retrieved--that one, once committed, never. If he could
only see her now, this is what he would say: "We can only live but once,
Wenna; and this for us two would be life--our only chance of it.
Whatever else may happen, that is no matter: let us make sure of this
one chance, and face the future together--you full of sweetness and
trust, I having plenty of courage for both. We will treat objectors and
objections as they may arise--afterward: perhaps they will be prudent
and keep out of our way." And indeed he convinced himself that this,
and this only, was Wenna Rosewarne's chance of securing happiness for
her life, assuming, in a way, that he had love as well as courage
sufficient for both.
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?"
"None. I'll take it as it comes: I'm not afraid."
They got down to the promenade; the forenoon was now bright and
cheerful; a good many folks had come out to enjoy the sunlight and the
cool sea-breeze. Miss Juliott was not at all disinclined to walk there
with her handsome cousin, though he had forgotten his gloves and was
clearly not paying her very special attention.
"Jue," he said suddenly, "I can see Miss Rosewarne right at the end of
this road: can't you?"
"I haven't got the eyes of a hawk, you stupid boy!" his cousin said.
"Oh, but I can recognize her dress a dozen times as far away. These are
her pet colors at present--a soft cream-color and black, with bits of
dark red. Can you see now?"
"I never saw you pay the least attention before to a lady's dress."
"Because you don't know how _she_ dresses," he said proudly.
She was coming along the Parade all alone.
"Well, it _is_ a pretty dress," Miss Juliott said, "and I like the look
of her face, Harry. You can't expect one girl to say any more than that
of another girl, can you?"
"This is a very nice way of being able to introduce you," he said. "I
suppose you will be able to chaperon each other afterward, when her
mother isn't able to go out?"
Wenna was coming quietly along, apparently rather preoccupied. Sometimes
she looked out, with her dark, earnest and yet wistful eyes, at the
great plain of water quivering in the sunshine: she paid little heed to
the people who went by. When at length she did see Harry Trelyon, she
was quite near him, and she had just time to glance for a moment at his
companion. The next moment--he could not tell how it all happened--she
passed him with a slight bow of recognition, courteous enough, but
nothing more. There was no especial look of friendliness in her eyes.
He stood there rather bewildered.
"That is about as good as the cut direct, Harry," his cousin said. "Come
along--don't stand there."
"Oh, but there's some mistake, Jue," he said.
"A girl never does a thing of that sort by mistake. Either she is vexed
with you for walking with me--and that is improbable, for I doubt
whether she saw me--or she thinks the ardor of your acquaintance should
be moderated; and there I should agree with her. You don't seem so vexed
as one might have expected, Harry."
"Vexed!" he said. "Why, can't you tell by that girl's face that she
could do nothing capricious or unkind? Of course she has a reason; and I
will find it out."