In course of time Tom went away; Dick saw him go with his fiddle tucked under his arm in its baize cover. A rapt look was on his face. He had a double inspiration: he was a musical genius, and he was in love for the first time.
“Surely you have the kindest heart of any woman in the whole world!” cried Dick, when he had kissed her hand.
“Yes,” she said, “I believe that I have—at times; but how have you found me out? I fancied that I had done my best to conceal that fact from you.”
“Enough that I have found it out,” said he.
“’Tis not enough, sir,” she cried. “What! do you make an accusation against a poor woman and then refuse to say on what grounds it is made?”
“’Tis a fault that carries its own punishment, madam,” said he, “so I will reproach you no further. Faith, there are few ladies nowadays who lay themselves open to such a charge.”
“All the greater reason why I should know your reasons for making me an exception,” said she.
He laughed, saying:
“Well, if you must know, I passed by this house a quarter of an hour ago.”