"I should like it," he said; "but it won't do, Uncle Paul. My career's over here in Carnac, and I ought to have been off long enough ago, instead of idling away my time, and growing rusty." "Only you feel that you can't leave the place, eh?" Geoffrey frowned, and half turned away his head. "Well," said the old man, "Rhoda Penwynn is a fine girl, and full of purpose and spirit. There, sit down, man, sit down," he cried, putting his cane across the door to prevent Geoffrey's exit. "Can't you bear to hear a few words of truth?" Geoffrey looked at him angrily, but he resumed his place. "I shouldn't have thought much of her if she hadn't thrown you over as she did, my lad." "Where was her faith?" cried Geoffrey. "Ah, that's sentiment, my lad, and not plain common-sense. Every thing looked black against you." "Black? Yes; and whose lips ought to have whitened my character?" "Ah! it was an unlucky affair, Geoffrey, my boy, and we all owe you an apology. But look here: go and see her, and make it up." "I? Go to see Miss Penwynn, and beg her to take me on again--to be her lover, _vice_ that scoun--Tchah! how hot-brained I am. _De mortuis_! Let him rest. But no, Uncle Paul. That's all over now." "Don't see it, my boy. She never cared a snap of the fingers for Tregenna." "But she accepted, and would have married him." "After she believed you to be a scoundrel, Trethick." "What right had she to consider me a scoundrel?" cried Geoffrey, hotly. "My character ought to have been her faith." "Yes," said the old man, dryly; "but then she had the misfortune to be a woman of sense and not of sentiment. I think she did quite right." "Then I don't," said Geoffrey, hotly. "Ah, that's better," said the old man; "it's quite a treat to have a bit of a row, Trethick. It's like going back to old times. I like Rhoda Penwynn better every day; and the way in which she helps the old man is something to be admired, sir. But how he--a clever, sharp fellow-- allowed that Tregenna to involve him as he did, I don't know." "I suppose he is very poor now," said Geoffrey, who could not conceal his interest. "Poor? I don't believe he has a penny. The girl's as good or as bad as destitute." Geoffrey did not speak, but sat with his eyes fixed upon a white-sailed fishing-boat far out upon the blue waters of the bay. "She would have sacrificed herself for the old man, and I dare say have married Tregenna to save him, if she had not found out all that about poor Madge. I say, Trethick, if you really care for the girl, I think I should see her and make it up." "But I don't care for her," cried Geoffrey, hotly. "I detest--I hate her." "Humph!" said Uncle Paul, taking a fresh cheroot, and passing over the case to Geoffrey; "and this is the fellow who boasted that he had never told a lie?" Just then there was a step on the gravel path, and Geoffrey shrank back in his place, the old man looking at him mockingly. "There she is," he said.