"Juliet," he stammered as soon as they were left alone together, "I know
I oughtn't to have come, but I simply couldn't keep away."
"Why oughtn't you to have come?" was all she could ask foolishly.
"Because I know you can't want to see me," said the absurd young man, "though I do think you liked me pretty well before, didn't you? when Maisie Tarver tied my tongue; or ought to have, I'm afraid I should say. But she had enough sense to drop me when I was arrested. She couldn't stand a man arrested for murder any more than you or anyone else could?"
He said the last words with an air of shamefaced interrogation.
"Why," said Juliet, who was being carried off her feet on the top of a rapturous flood, "what nonsense! You were as innocent as I was. What would it matter if you were arrested twenty times!"
"Well, I shouldn't care to be, myself," said David, without apparently deriving much satisfaction from such a suggestion. "Once is enough for me. And anyway," he added inconsequently, "you can't very well marry a fellow who is first cousin to a man who's as good as hanged already!"
"Oh, David, David," cried Juliet; "as if that mattered! But who do you suppose I am—don't you know that he's my first cousin just as he is yours?"
"By Jingo," said David, "I never thought of that, somehow. Then we're both in the same boat!" And he stepped forward and caught her by the hands.
"Yes, David," she said, as he drew her to him tenderly, "both in the same boat. And what can be nicer than that?"