He did not answer, but when I again looked at him, the glow my words had called up had not left his face.
"You are not here alone?" he observed after an embarrassed pause.
"Oh no! Mrs. Gray is sitting on one of the benches there beyond. Do you want to speak to her?"
"Of course I do," he replied, chucking my chin in his old way.
He took my hand, picked up his sketch-book and drawing materials, and walked with me to where Mrs. Gray sat. She was absorbed in the catastrophe of a third volume, which she nearly dropped, as she saw me appear before her, holding the hand of Cornelius. At first she was quite agitated, but the free and easy manner of the young man soon restored her composure. He did his best to render himself agreeable, and carefully shunned every allusion that could alarm her. I had seen him give her two or three keen looks as if to read her character, before he entered into conversation, after which he went on like one master of his subject. He talked pleasantly for about half an hour, then left us: as I kissed him, my lips opened to ask when we should meet again, but his look checked me. I saw him take the direction that led to the Grove, and my eyes followed him until he was out of sight.
"A very agreeable young man, very," observed Mrs. Gray, giving me shy looks I could not understand; "don't you think so, dear?"
"I don't know, Ma'am. I have known—"
"Yes, yes," she interrupted, "you have known others quite as agreeable; why, so have I. Once I remember, as a girl, that my sister and I often met in our walks a pleasant old gentleman, whom we called—not knowing his name—Dr. Johnson. Suppose we call this young landscape-painter Claude Lorraine."
"Oh, Ma'am! his name is—"
"My dear," impatiently interrupted Mrs. Gray, "how should you know his name? did you ask it, or did he tell you?"