“Not at all!” protested Gideon. “We met at Bournemouth ever so long ago. I never forgot you since. Say you never forgot me. Say you never forgot me, and call me Gideon!”
“Isn’t this rather—a want of reserve about Jimson?” inquired the girl.
“O, I know I am an ass,” cried the barrister, “and I don’t care a halfpenny! I know I’m an ass, and you may laugh at me to your heart’s delight.” And as Julia’s lips opened with a smile, he once more dropped into music. “There’s the Land of Cherry Isle!” he sang, courting her with his eyes.
“It’s like an opera,” said Julia, rather faintly.
“What should it be?” said Gideon. “Am I not Jimson? It would be strange if I did not serenade my love. O yes, I mean the word, my Julia; and I mean to win you. I am in dreadful trouble, and I have not a penny of my own, and I have cut the silliest figure; and yet I mean to win you, Julia. Look at me, if you can, and tell me no!”
She looked at him; and whatever her eyes may have told him, it is to be supposed he took a pleasure in the message, for he read it a long while.
“And Uncle Ned will give us some money to go on upon in the meanwhile,” he said at last.
“Well, I call that cool!” said a cheerful voice at his elbow.
Gideon and Julia sprang apart with wonderful alacrity; the latter annoyed to observe that although they had never moved since they sat down, they were now quite close together; both presenting faces of a very heightened colour to the eyes of Mr. Edward Hugh Bloomfield. That gentleman, coming up the river in his boat, had captured the truant canoe, and divining what had happened, had thought to steal a march upon Miss Hazeltine at her sketch. He had unexpectedly brought down two birds with one stone; and as he looked upon the pair of flushed and breathless culprits, the pleasant human instinct of the matchmaker softened his heart.