He went up stairs, never thinking how his deep trouble about so insignificant an incident would strike a third person.

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said right out, “I want you to tell me if Wenna wishes our acquaintance to end.  Has she been speaking to you?  Just now she passed me in the street as if she did not wish to see me again.”

“Probably,” said Mrs. Rosewarne, amused as well as surprised by the young man’s impetuosity, “she did not see you then.  Wenna often passes people so.  Most likely she was thinking about other things, for she had another letter from Jamaica just before she went out.”

“Oh, she has had another letter from Jamaica this morning?” Trelyon said, with an angry light appearing in his eyes.  “That is it, is it?”

“I don’t understand you,” Mrs. Rosewarne was saying, when both of them heard Wenna enter below.

“Mrs. Rosewarne,” he said with a sudden entreaty in his voice, “would you mind letting me see Wenna alone for a couple of minutes?  I want to ask her if she is offended with me:  you won’t mind, will you?”

“Not in the least,” she said, good-naturedly; and then she added, at the door, “Mind, Mr. Trelyon, Wenna is easily hurt.  You must speak gently to her.”

About a minute afterward Wenna, having laid her hat and shawl aside, came into the room.  When she found Trelyon there alone, she almost shrank back, and her face paled somewhat:  then she forced herself to go forward and shake hands with him, though her face still wore a frightened and constrained look.

“Wenna,” he said, “don’t go away:  I want to speak to you for a minute.  You are offended with me about something, and I want you to tell me why.  If you wish our friendship to cease, say so, and I will obey you; but you must tell me why first.”

“I am not offended with you, Mr. Trelyon,” she said in a low and nervous voice.  “Do not think that.  But—­but I think it will be better if you will let our friendship cease, as you say.”

“Oh no,” he said, “I will not in this fashion.  You’ve got to tell me what is the matter first.  Now remember this.  Not very long ago you chose to quarrel with me about nothing—­absolutely about nothing.  You know quite well that I meant no harm to you by lending Mr. Roscorla that money, yet you must needs flare up and give it me as hot as you could, all for nothing.  What could I do?  Why, only wait until you saw what a mistake you had made.”

“It was very wrong of me,” she said:  “I ask your forgiveness.  But now it is quite different:  I am not angry with you at all.  I should like to remain your friend, and yet I think it better not.  I—­I cannot explain to you, Mr. Trelyon, and I am sure you won’t ask me when I say so.”

He looked at her for a moment, and then he said, gently and yet firmly, “Look here, Wenna.  You think I am only a boy—­that may or may not be—­but I am going to talk reasonably to you for once.  Come over to this chair by the window and sit down.”