He had so many pleasant things to say on that sunny, spring morning that the breakfast-table was soon as bright as the dappled opalescent sea that sparkled and flashed as it played round the rocky promontory upon which stood the ruins of Wheal Carnac Mine, or lifted the dark hulls of the fishing-luggers moored to the buoys, some of which had their dark cinnamon-hued sails hung out to dry, forming, through the heavily-curtained window, with its boxes of ferns, a charming bit of sea, like some carefully-selected specimen of the painter's art. Rhoda had forgotten the little cloud in the present sunshine, when, after a preparation of pleasant words, Mr Penwynn suddenly said,-- "Oh! by the way, I did not tell you about Tregenna." "About Tregenna, papa?" said Rhoda, whose face suddenly lowered. "Yes, my dear," said Mr Penwynn, putting on his glasses and taking up the paper, as he shifted his chair sidewise to the table, "he's coming here this morning. By the way, Rhoda, you are twenty-one, are you not?" "Yes, papa, of course, but--" "I told Tregenna you were," he said, quietly, and with an averted face. "He's thirty-three." "I don't understand you, papa," said Rhoda, quietly. "Has Tregenna been attentive to you lately?" "Oh, yes, papa," said Rhoda, impatiently; "but what do you mean?" "Of course he would be," said Mr Penwynn, as if to himself. "What's this alarming earthquake in Peru? Ah! they're always having earthquakes in Peru; but it's a fine mining country." "Papa, you are not paying any attention to what I say," cried Rhoda. "What do you mean about Mr Tregenna?" "Oh, nothing, nothing, my dear," said Mr Penwynn, re-adjusting the gold-rimmed glasses upon his nose. "Some nonsense of his. He declares that he is terribly smitten with you." "Papa!" "And that he can never be happy without you." "Papa!" "And I told him he had better come and talk to you himself." "You told him that, papa?" said Rhoda, pushing back her chair. "To be sure, my dear," said Mr Penwynn, rustling the newspaper in the most unruffled way. "Of course it is all nonsense." "Nonsense, papa? You know Mr Tregenna is not a man who talks nonsense." "Well, perhaps not, my dear. He certainly is a very clever, sensible fellow." "Oh!" ejaculated Rhoda, beneath her breath, as she gazed at the handsome profile before her. "You might do worse, my dear," continued Mr Penwynn, skimming the paper. "Do I understand you, papa, that you sanction Mr Tregenna's proposal?" "Sanction?" he said, looking up from the paper for a moment to glance over his glasses at his child. "Oh, yes, my dear: of course." "I can not--I will not, see Mr Tregenna," said Rhoda, firmly, and one of her little feet began to beat the thick Turkey carpet. "Don't be foolish, my dear. He is desperately taken with you, and will make you a capital husband." "Husband?" cried the girl, passionately. "Oh, papa, you cannot mean this. Mr Tregenna is--"