Jenny and May were frankly puzzled by Trewhella. He represented to them a new element. Jenny felt she had received an impression incommunicable by description, as if, having been flung suddenly into a room, one were to try to record the experience in terms of the underground railway. The farmer himself did not pay any attention to either of the girls, so that Jenny was compelled to gain her impression of him as if he were an animal in a cage, funny or dull or interesting, but always remote. She was content to watch him eat with a detached curiosity that prevented her from being irritated by his deliberation, or, after noisy drinking, by the colossal fist that smudged his lips dry. "Ess," Trewhella announced after swallowing a large mouthful of plum-cake. "Ess, I shall be brim glad when I'm back to Trewinnard. 'Tis my belief the devil's the only one to show a Cornishman round London fittee." Mr. Corin laughed at this sardonic witticism, but said he was going to have a jolly good try at showing Zack the sights of the town that very night. "You ought to take him to the Orient," May advised. "By gosh, and that's a proper notion," said Corin, slapping his thigh. "That's you and me to-night, Zack." "What's the Orient?" inquired Trewhella. "Haven't you never heard of the Orient?" Jenny gasped, her sense of fitness disturbed by such an abyss of ignorance. "No, my dear, I never have," replied Trewhella, and for the first time looked Jenny full in the face. "I dance there," she told him, "in the ballet." The Cornishman looked round to his friend for an explanation. "That's all right, boy," said Corin jovially. "You'll know soon enough what dancing is. You and me's going there to-night." Trewhella grunted, looked at Jenny again and said after a pause: "Well, being in the city, I suppose we must follow city manners, but darn'ee, I never thought to go gazing at dancing like maidens at St. Peter's Tide." Corin chuckled at the easy defeat of the farmer's prejudice, and said he meant to open old Zack's eyes before he went back to Cornwall, and no mistake. Soon after this the two girls left the tea-party, and while Jenny dressed herself to go down to the theater, they discussed Mr. Z. Trewhella. "Did you ever hear anyone talk so funny. Oh, May, I nearly split myself for laughing. Oh, he talks like a coon." "I thought he talked like a gramaphone that wants winding up," said May. "But what a dreadful thing to talk like that. Poor man, it's a shame to laugh at him, though, because he can't help it." Jenny was twisting round to see that no dust lay on the back of her coat. "I wonder what he'll think of you dancing," May speculated. "But I don't expect he'll recognize you." "I think he will, then," contradicted Jenny as she dabbed her nose with the powder-puff. "Perhaps you never noticed, but he looked at me very funny once or twice." "Did he?" said May. "Well, I'm jolly glad it wasn't me or I should have had a fit of the giggles."