e Mr. Trelyon again; and much
harm that would do either him or me! But I am too proud to think
that any one could imagine such a thing. Nor did I expect that to
come from my own sister, who ought to know what my true relations
are with regard to Mr. Trelyon. I like him very much, as I told him
to his face two days before we left Eglosilyan; _and that will
show you what our relations are_. I think he is a very frank,
generous and good young man, and a clever and cheerful companion;
and my mother has to-day to thank him for about the pleasantest
little trip she has ever enjoyed. But as for your wishing me to
preserve a flower that he sent, or that you think he sent to me,
why, I feel my face burning at the thought of what you suggest. And
what can I say to him now, supposing he has seen it? Can I tell him
that my own sister thought such things of me? Perhaps, after all,
the simplest way to set matters right will be for me to break off
the acquaintance altogether; and that will show him whether I was
likely to have treasured up a scrap of London pride in my
Prayer-book.

"I am your loving sister,

"WENNA ROSEWARNE."

Meanwhile, Harry Trelyon was walking up and down the almost empty
thoroughfare by the side of the sea, the stars overhead shining clearly
in the dark night, the dimly-seen waves falling monotonously on the
shelving beach. "To keep a flower, that is nothing," he was saying to
himself. "All girls do that, no matter who gives it to them. I suppose
she has lots more, all with the proper initials and date attached."

It was not an agreeable reflection; he turned to other matters: "If she
were to care for me a little bit, would it be mean of me to try to carry
her off from that man? Is it possible that he has the same feeling for
her that I have? In that case it would be mean. Now, when I think of
her, the whole world seems filled with her presence somehow, and
everything is changed. When I hear the sea in the morning I think of
her, and wonder where she is; when I see a fine day I hope she is
enjoying it somewhere; the whole of Penzance has become magical. It is
no longer the same town. I used to come to it and never see it in the
old days, when one was busy about stables and the pilchard fishing and
the reports of the quarries. Now the whole of Penzance has got a sort of
charm in it since Wenna Rosewarne has come to