“Well, now, that’s odd,” said Glen, smiling. “I suppose it was my conceit: do you know, I fancied that she glanced at me. At all events, I seemed to catch her eye.”
“Ah, it might seem so, but of course she recognised me again! Let’s walk gently after them.”
“What for?”
“To—er—well, to see which way they go.”
“I don’t want to know which way they go, my dear lad, and if I did, why, we can see very well from where we are. There they go, along that path to the right; you can see their dresses amongst the trees; and now they have turned off to the left. Would you like to stand upon the seat?”
“Oh, how cold and impassive you are! I feel as if I must see which way they go, and then we might take a short cut over the grass, and meet them again.”
“When those two fierce-looking old gorgons would see that you were following them up, and they would fire such a round from their watchful eyes that you, my dear boy, would retire in discomfiture, and looking uncommonly foolish. I remember once, when I was somewhere about your age, I had a very severe encounter with a chaperone in a cashmere shawl.”
“Oh, do get up, Glen, there’s a good fellow, and let’s go.”
“I had fallen in love with a young lady. I fancy now that she wore drawers with frills at the bottom, and that her dresses were short—frocks, I believe.”
“There they are again,” cried the boy, jumping up; “look, they are going down that path.”