Now, when Harry Trelyon drove up to the Hall after leaving Wenna Rosewarne in the road he could not tell why he was vexed with her. He imagined somehow that she should not have allowed Mr. Roscorla to come home; and to come home just at this moment, when he, Trelyon, had stolen down for a couple of days to have a shy look at the sweet-heart who was so far out of his reach! She ought to have been alone. Then she ought not to have looked so calm and complacent on going away to meet Mr. Roscorla: she ought to have been afraid. She ought to have--In short, everything was wrong, and Wenna was largely to blame. "Well, grandmother," said he as they drove through the avenue, "don't you expect every minute to flush a covey of parsons?" He was angry with Wenna, and so he broke out once more in his old vein. "There are worse men than the parsons, Harry," the old lady said. "I'll bet you a sovereign there are two on the doorstep." He would have lost. There was not a clergyman of any sort in or about the house. "Isn't Mr. Barnes here?" said he to his mother. Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly as she said, "No, Harry, Mr. Barnes is not here, nor is he likely to visit here again." Now, Mr. Roscorla would at once have perceived that a strange little story lay behind that simple speech, but Mr. Harry, paying no attention to it, merely said he was heartily glad to hear of it, and showed his gratitude by being unusually polite to his mother during the rest of his stay. "And so Mr. Roscorla has come back?" his mother said. "General Weekes was asking about him only yesterday. We must see if he will come up to dinner the night after to-morrow; and Miss Rosewarne also." "You may ask her--you ought to ask her--but she won't come," said he. "How do you know?" Mrs. Trelyon said with a gentle wonder. "She has been here very often of late." "Have you let her walk up?" "No, I have generally driven down for her when I wanted to see her; and the way she has been working for these people is extraordinary--never tired, always cheerful, ready to be bothered by anybody, and patient with their suspicions and simplicity beyond belief. I am sure Mr. Roscorla will have an excellent wife." "I am not at all sure that he will," said her son, goaded past endurance. "Why, Harry," said his mother, with her eyes wide open, "I thought you had a great respect for Miss Rosewarne." "I have," he said abruptly--"far too great a respect to like the notion of her marrying that old fool." "Would you rather not have him to dinner?" "Oh, I should like to have him to dinner." For one evening, at least, this young man considered, these two would be separated. He was pretty sure that Roscorla would come to meet General Weekes: he was positive that Wenna would not come to the house while he himself was in it.