"Isn't Mr. Barnes here?" said he to his mother.
Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly as she said, "No, Harry, Mr. Barnes is not here, nor is he likely to visit here again."
Now, Mr. Roscorla would at once have perceived that a strange little story lay behind that simple speech, but Mr. Harry, paying no attention to it, merely said he was heartily glad to hear of it, and showed his gratitude by being unusually polite to his mother during the rest of his stay.
"And so Mr. Roscorla has come back?" his mother said. "General Weekes was asking about him only yesterday. We must see if he will come up to dinner the night after to-morrow; and Miss Rosewarne also."
"You may ask her—you ought to ask her—but she won't come," said he.
"How do you know?" Mrs. Trelyon said with a gentle wonder. "She has been here very often of late."
"Have you let her walk up?"
"No, I have generally driven down for her when I wanted to see her; and the way she has been working for these people is extraordinary—never tired, always cheerful, ready to be bothered by anybody, and patient with their suspicions and simplicity beyond belief. I am sure Mr. Roscorla will have an excellent wife."
"I am not at all sure that he will," said her son, goaded past endurance.
"Why, Harry," said his mother, with her eyes wide open, "I thought you had a great respect for Miss Rosewarne."