"I don't feel very sure of you down here," said Gentian, looking at him with earnest eyes. "I'm so afraid you will marry Miss Frances Muir! There! I know I ought not to say so, but somehow with you I must unburden myself. And if you marry her, you won't care about me any more. You'll forget all about me—and she—Miss Muir—will keep you from having anything to do with me—I know her kind. I don't like her and she doesn't like me. We are natural—what is the word? Not enemies—antagonists. Why are you laughing?" "I can't help being amused at your matchmaking propensities. Am I so very susceptible to female charm? Haven't you always considered me a thorough old bachelor? We are talking nonsense, let us come back to Mrs. Wharnecliffe." He turned; then, as Gentian seemed reduced to silence, he put his hand on her shoulder. "Your future is not in your hands, child. A loving God is caring for you. Leave it to Him, He makes no mistakes. That is one of the facts that strengthen with years." She did not speak. Her eyes filled with tears. She was very silent for the rest of the evening. Thorold left them as soon as he had taken them back to the hotel, promising to be with them again at ten o'clock the next morning, when Mrs. Wharnecliffe's car would take them to the mine. And the next day dawned brilliantly. Blue sky, and no wind, the sea lay calm and still as a mill pond. They caught the glimpses of it as they sped up and down hill through the Cornish lanes. Gentian was her bright self again, and keenly interested in all the working of the mine. She was very disappointed that she was not allowed to go down into it. She talked to the manager, and to every miner that she came across, and bewildered them by her questions and inquiries. Later on, Thorold took them to see a row of cottages which were just being built. Gentian did not think much of the hamlet, but loved its quaint name, which was Menabockle. She spoke to a woman who stood at a cottage door. "Aren't you very happy to have the mine working again?" "'Twill give work to many," said the woman with a smile. "Yes, and you're lucky to have Mr. Holt owning it. If you're in trouble, he'll get you out of it by hook or crook. He was born to do that, I believe." She nodded and smiled and passed on. Only the woman caught her words. Thorold was busy talking to Mrs. Wharnecliffe. He was bent on reassuring her about his venture. "It is a risk, of course, but all here know that tin is to be found; and the mine stopped working through want of capital to carry it on. Be patient, and you'll see that I have not wasted my money." "Why need you be on the spot always?" asked Gentian. "When it's once started, can't your manager carry it on?"