"There seems to be tremendous enthusiasm about Captain Trevanion's coming down, although, of course, he is no speaker," went on Mrs. Nancarrow. "But you see, the fact of his starting for the front in a day or so, makes him of special interest. I understand that Nancy Tresize is going away as a Red Cross nurse, almost at once."
Bob's heart fluttered wildly as he heard her name.
"Captain Trevanion stayed at Penwennack last night. Naturally the Admiral admires him more than ever. The Captain and Nancy motored to Land's End yesterday afternoon."
Her every word was like a sword thrust into the young fellow's heart. He knew what she meant--knew too, that the Admiral had always favoured Trevanion as a suitor for his daughter. How could it be otherwise, when Trevanion was a man after the Admiral's own heart? _He_ had showed no hesitation about the right of defending his country; rather he had throughout been enthusiastic to a degree, while Bob had hung back. Mad jealousy filled his heart as he realised what might possibly be taking place. Even then, Nancy, in her scorn for the man whom she believed to have been unworthy of her love, might be listening to the pleadings of one who was worthy.
"I expect Nancy will be at the meeting," went on Mrs. Nancarrow. "As you know, she goes almost everywhere with her father, and as the Admiral will take the chair, I expect she will be on the platform."
Bob conjured up the scene. He fancied he saw Trevanion, in his uniform, speaking in a soldier-like fashion about the duty of defending his country, the crowd cheering wildly, while Nancy, carried away by her admiration of the man who accorded with her ideals of how an Englishman should act, would yield to the gallant soldier the love for which he would give his life.
That night, with a kind of savage love for self-torture, Bob made his way to the Public Hall. He got there half an hour before the announced time, and found the place nearly full. All round the walls hung bunting, characteristic of the county. The Cornish Coat of Arms hung over the chairman's table, while the chorus of the old Cornish song:
And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand Cornishmen Will know the reason why.