“The rocks seem rather slippery with the dew,” answered the artist; “but I am reasonably surefooted.”
“Well, please don’t take any chances; for, disagreeable as you are, I don’t wish to be left here alone.”
“Thank you, Miss Sommerton.”
The artist stood on the point of rock, and, holding by a branch of a tree, peered out over the river.
“Oh, Mr. Trenton, don’t do that!” cried the young lady, with alarm. “Please come back.”
“Say ‘John,’ then,” replied the gentleman.
“Oh, Mr. Trenton, don’t!” she cried as he leaned still further over the water, straining the branch to its utmost.
“Say ‘John.’”
“Mr. Trenton.”
“‘John.’”