“But your friend will be here soon,” said she. “Is it not so?”
“Oh, poor Charley! I’d almost forgotten him. By-the-bye, you mustn’t fall in love with him. There now, do not look angry; I only meant that, as I knew he’d be desperately smitten, you shouldn’t let him fancy he got any encouragement.”
“What would you have me do?” said she, artlessly.
“I have been thinking over that, too. In the first place, you’d better never let him hear you sing; scarcely ever smile; and as far as possible, keep out of his sight.”
“One would think, Senhor, that all these precautions were to be taken more on my account than on his. Is he so very dangerous, then?”
“Not a bit of it! Good-looking enough he is, but, only a boy; at the same time, a devilish bold one! And he’d think no more of springing through that window and throwing his arms round your neck, the very first moment of his arrival, than I should of whispering how much I love you.”
“How very odd he must be! I’m sure I should like him.”
“Many thanks to both for your kind hints; and now to take advantage of them.” So saying, I stepped lightly upon the window-sill, cleared the miller with one spring, and before Power could recover his legs or Margeritta her astonishment, I clasped her in my arms, and kissed her on either cheek.
“Charley! Charley! Damn it, man, it won’t do!” cried Fred; while the young lady, evidently more amused at his discomfiture than affronted at the liberty, threw herself into a seat, and laughed immoderately.
“Ha! Hilloa there! What is’t?” shouted the miller, rousing himself from his nap, and looking eagerly round. “Are they coming? Are the French coming?”