“Perhaps that’s how I come to remember her,” suggested George.
Failing this explanation, he confessed himself puzzled, and determined to dismiss the matter from his thoughts for the present. Aided by Isabel Bourne, he was very successful in this effort: a pretty girl’s company is the best modern substitute for the waters of Lethe.
Nevertheless, his interest remained strong enough to make him join the group which Gerald and Mr. Blodwell formed with Neaera as soon as the men went upstairs. Mr. Blodwell made no secret of the fact that it was with him a case of love at first sight, and openly regretted that his years prevented him fighting Gerald for his prize. Gerald listened with the complacent happiness of a secure lover, and Neaera gravely apologised for not having waited to make her choice till she had seen Mr. Blodwell.
“But at least you had heard of me?” he urged.
“I am terribly ignorant,” she said. “I don’t believe I ever did.”
“Neaera’s not one of the criminal classes, you see, sir,” Gerald put in.
“He taunts me,” exclaimed Mr. Blodwell, “with the Old Bailey!”
George had come up in time to hear the last two remarks. Neaera saw him, and smiled pleasantly.
“Here’s a young lady who knows nothing about the law, George,” continued Blodwell. “She never heard of me—nor of you either, I dare say. It reminds me of what they used to say about old Dawkins. Old Daw never had a brief, but he was Recorder of some little borough or other—place with a prisoner once in two years, you know—I forget the name. Let’s see—yes, Peckton.”