work myself. And that seems to me
what she is always looking at: 'What's the good of you, what are you
doing, what are you busy about?' It's all very well for her to be
busy, for she can do a hundred thousand things, and she is always at
them. What can I do?"

Then his wandering day-dreamings took another turn: "It was an odd
thing for Mabyn to say--'_That is when you are in love with some
one_.' But those girls take everything for love. They don't know how
you can admire, almost to worshiping, the goodness of a woman, and how
you are anxious that she should be well and happy, and how you would
do anything in the world to please her, without fancying straight away
that you are in love with her, and want to marry her and drive about
in the same carriage with her. I shall be quite as fond of Wenna
Rosewarne when she is married, although I shall hate that little brute
with his rum and his treacle. The cheek of him, in asking her to marry
him, is astonishing. He is the most hideous little beast that could
have been picked out to marry any woman, but I suppose he has appealed
to her compassion, and then she'll do anything. But if there was
anybody else in love with her, if she cared the least bit about
anybody else, wouldn't I go straight to her and insist on her shunting
that fellow aside? What claim has he on any other feeling of hers but
her compassion? Why, if that fellow were to come and try to frighten
her, and if I were in the affair, and if she appealed to me even by a
look, then there would be short work with something or somebody."

He got up hastily, with something of a gloomy and angry look on his
face. He did not notice that he had startled all the birds around from
out of the bushes. He picked up his rod and line in a morose
fashion, not seeming to care about adding to the half dozen small and
red-speckled trout he had in his basket.

While he was thus irresolutely standing he caught sight of a girl's
figure coming rapidly along the valley under the shadow of some ash
trees growing by the stream. It was Wenna Rosewarne herself, and she
seemed to be hurrying toward him. She was carrying some black object
in her arms.

"Oh, Mr. Trelyon," she said, "what am I to do with this little dog? I
saw him kicking in the road and foaming at the mouth; and then he got
up and ran, and I caught him--"

Before she had time to say anything more the young man made a sudden
dive at the dog, caught hold of him and turned and