So when Lionel made that innocent remark, the softness of his tone warned the artist of some snake in the grass, and he prudently remained silent. Lionel, in a voice still sweeter, repeated,—“It is I who have all the talk now!”
“Naturally,” then returned Vance, “naturally you have, for it is you, I suspect, who alone have the intention to pay for it, and three pounds appear to be the price. Dearish, eh?”
“Ah, Vance, if I had three pounds!”
“Tush; and say no more till we have supped. I have the hunger of a wolf.”
Just in sight of the next milestone the young travellers turned a few yards down a green lane, and reached a small inn on the banks of the Thames. Here they had sojourned for the last few days, sketching, boating, roaming about the country from sunrise, and returning to supper and bed at nightfall. It was the pleasantest little inn,—an arbour, covered with honeysuckle, between the porch and the river,—a couple of pleasure-boats moored to the bank; and now all the waves rippling under the moonlight.
“Supper and lights in the arbour,” cried Vance to the waiting-maid, “hey, presto, quick! while we turn in to wash our hands. And hark! a quart jug of that capital whiskey-toddy.”
CHAPTER IV.
Being a chapter that links the past to the future by the gradual
elucidation of antecedents.
O wayside inns and pedestrian rambles! O summer nights, under honeysuckle arbours, on the banks of starry waves! O Youth, Youth!