“You have met Mr Lee, then?” said the host stiffly.
“Yes—yes,” said the new vicar; “Mr Trethick is an old Oxford man.”
“And you don’t like him,” said Rhoda to herself, as she observed every thing; “and I don’t like you.”
“We were fellow-passengers by the coach this morning,” said Geoffrey, and as he spoke he glanced by Mr Penwynn at where Rhoda was re-arranging some flowers, and found that the Reverend Edward Lee had brought his spectacles to bear in the same direction. Then, looking back at his host, he fancied that this gentleman had not been unobservant of the glances of his guests.
Mr Penwynn smiled to himself directly after as Geoffrey moved towards Rhoda, and began talking to her about the view from the drawing-room window and his walk along the coast; but the young clergyman looked at his host as if in remonstrance at his allowing this stranger to make so free, when the door opened, and the servant announced,—
“Mr Tregenna!”
“Ah, Tregenna! You are late. Glad to see you.”
“Business, my dear sir. The old story—business. My dear Miss Penwynn, you must forgive me,” he continued, speaking in a low voice full of deference, but with lips that did not seem to move as he spoke, as Rhoda turned from Geoffrey, and took a couple of steps towards the fresh comer—a tall, handsome man of distingué appearance, but with a rather sallow complexion, made deeper by his jet black hair and whiskers.
Geoffrey started slightly, and then gazed keenly at this man, who bent down over Rhoda Penwynn’s hand as he took it, and retained it just a moment longer than custom dictates, and smiled in her face directly after as, in a quiet, self-possessed way, she said that they had not been waiting.
“Waiting? No!” said Mr Penwynn smiling; “but I should have thought you would have been first.”