"Yes, yes! the idea of saying that to me!" said Julia, just as gayly as before. "I am going to tell mamma. The last thing that she expects is to see you here."
"Haven't you told her?"
"She was lying down when I came, and I did not want to disturb her," replied the girl, blushing at the lie that she was telling.
"Well then, let us not go indoors quite yet; I have something to talk with you about first."
And he went and sat down in the summer house and took off his hat. Julia hesitated a moment; but finally sat down beside him.
"Don't you know what I want to tell you?" he began, giving her a keen and loving look.
"I am not a gypsy, my dear."
"It happened to be a gypsy who told me while I was in Seville that a sly, witty little brunette was going to kill me with disdain."
"And you believed her, simpleton?"
"Why not?"