He would ask Wenna to leave the room. He would
attack the mother boldly, and tell her what he thought of Mr.
Roscorla. He would appeal to her to save her daughter from the
impending marriage. He would win her over to be his secret ally and
friend; and while nothing should be done precipitately to alarm Wenna
or arouse her suspicions, might not these two carry the citadel of her
heart in time, and hand over the keys to the rightful lord? It was a
pleasant speculation: it was at least marked by that audacity that
never wholly forsook Master Harry Trelyon. Of course he was the
rightful lord, ready to bid all false claimants, rivals and pretenders
Beware!
And yet, as he walked up to the house, some little tremor of anxiety
crept into his heart. It was no mere game of brag in which he was
engaged. As he went into the parlor Wenna stepped quietly by him, her
eyes downcast, and he knew that all he cared to look forward to in the
world depended on the decision of that quiet little person with the
sensitive mouth and the earnest eyes. Fighting was not of much use
there.
"Well, Mrs. Rosewarne," said he, rather shamefacedly, "I suppose you
mean to scold me?"
Her answer surprised him. She took no heed of his remark, but in a
vehement, excited way began to ask him questions about a woman whom
she described.
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