Trelyon!" said Mabyn.
"You keep quiet. That isn't the half of what's going to befall you. I
shall put up the horses at the inn, and I shall take you all down to
the beach for a scramble to improve your appetite; and at the said inn
you shall have luncheon with me, if you're all very good and behave
yourselves. Then we shall drive back just when we particularly please.
Do you like the picture?"
"It is delightful: oh, I am sure Wenna will enjoy it," Mabyn said.
"But don't you think, Mr. Trelyon, that you might ask her to sit here?
One sees better here than sitting sideways in a wagonette."
"They have their business-affairs to settle."
"Yes," said Mabyn petulantly, "that is what every one says: nobody
expects Wenna ever to have a moment's enjoyment to herself. Oh, here
is old Uncle Cornish--he's a great friend of Wenna's: he will be
dreadfully hurt if she passes him without saying a word."
"Then we shall pull up and address Uncle Cornish. I believe he used to
be the most thieving old ruffian of a poacher in this county."
There was a hale old man of seventy or so seated on a low wall in
front of one of the gardens, his face shaded from the sunlight by a
broad hat, his lean gray hands employed in buckling up the leathern
leggings that encased his spare calves. He got up when the horses
stopped, and looked in rather a dazed fashion at the carriage.
"How do you do this morning, Mr. Cornish?" Wenna said.
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