“Because I don’t like him for any thing more than an acquaintance—that’s all,” he said; and then suddenly recollecting his suspicions that Tregenna had proposed to Rhoda on the night of the dinner, he flushed slightly, and exclaimed, “Really I beg your pardon. My antipathies ought to be kept private.”
Rhoda bowed and walked to the piano, where her voice was rising and falling in a well-known ballad, when Tregenna and the banker re-entered the room, the former darting a quick, suspicious look from one to the other, but without finding any thing upon which his suspicions could feed.
Whatever the business had been, Mr Penwynn seemed perfectly satisfied, and the conversation became general till Trethick rose to go, Tregenna following his example; but Mr Penwynn laid his hand upon the solicitor’s arm, and asked him to stay for a few minutes longer.
“Good-night, Mr Trethick,” he said. “I will sleep on that affair, and give you an answer in the morning.”
“Going to consult Tregenna a little more,” said Geoffrey, as he walked homeward. “Well, he is not a man whom I should trust, and I’m very glad I have no dealings with him whatever.”
He stopped at a corner to fill and light his meerschaum.
“There’s some pleasure in having a pipe now one has got to work,” he said, as he puffed the bowl into a glow, and then, as he went on—“that’s a very nice, quiet, sensible girl, that Miss Penwynn;” and then he began to think of Tregenna.
Just at the same time Rhoda had said to herself,—
“Mr Trethick is very frank, and manly, and natural,” and then she began thinking about Madge Mullion and Bess Prawle, and then—she could not tell why—she sighed.
There was a long talk that night in Mr Penwynn’s study, and when at last Tregenna left he was thinking to himself about mines and mining.