was lucky none of them were aware they lodged in Hagworth Street. What a
terrible thing it would be if it leaked out that such unnatural-looking
men, with such a funny way of talking, lodged at Jenny Pearl's. The
thought of the revelation made her blush. Yet Corin had not seemed
extraordinary before the arrival of his friend. It was Trewhella who had
infected them both with strangeness. He had an intensity, a dignity that
made him difficult to subdue with flippancy. He never seemed to laugh at
her retorts, and yet underneath that ragged mustache he seemed to be
smiling to himself all the time. And what terrible hands he had. More
like animals than hands. When Jenny caught his eye glinting down in the
stalls, she wished she were playing anything but an Ephesian flute-girl,
for Ephesian flute-girls, owning a happier climate, dressed very
lightly.

"He sat there looking me through and through," she told May, "till I
nearly run off to the side. He stared at me just like our cat stares at
the canary in the window next door."

"It's not a canary," May corrected. "It's a goldfinch."

"Now don't be silly, and shut up, you and your goldfinches. Who cares if
it's a parrot? You know what I mean. Tell me what I'm to do about Borneo
Bill."

May began to laugh.

"Well, he is. He's like the song."

On the next day Mr. Corin interviewed Jenny about the prospects of his
friend's suit.

"You know, Miss Raeburn, he's very serious about it, is Zack. He's
accounted quite a rich man down west. 'Tis his own farm freehold--and
he's asked Mr. Raeburn's permission."

"Well, that wins it!" Jenny proclaimed. "Asked my father's permission?
What for? What's it got to do with him who I marry? Thanks, I marry who
I please. What a liberty!"

Mr. Corin looked apologetic.

"I only told you that so as you shouldn't think there was anything funny
about it. I never saw a man so dead in earnest, and he's a religious
man, too."

"Well, I'm not," Jenny retorted. "I don't see what religion's got to do
with marrying."

"You come to think of it, Miss Raeburn, it's not such a bad offer. I
don't believe you could meet with a safer man than Zack. I suppose if
he's worth a dollar, he's worth three hundred pounds a year, and that's
comfortable living in Cornwall."

"But he's old enough to be my father," Jenny contended.

"He looks older than what he is," continued Mr. Corin plausibly.
"Actually he isn't much more than thirty-five."

"Yes, then he