That moment Jeannette gripped my arm and pointed to a figure which slouched away from us towards the fire. I got but one glimpse of him. He may have been anyone; for the crowd was spreading fast. Yet Jeannette and I both fancied the form was like that of Peter Stoupe, whom we had already seen once in the crowd that evening.
“Poor Peter,” said I, “no doubt he envies me my charge of you, Jeannette.”
She disengaged herself from my arm, and put her hand on my sleeve.
“Let us begone,” said she, uneasily. “I am sorry I came here.”
So I left Tom Price sitting on the grass, singing to himself; and full of my great news, yet troubled at Jeannette’s speech I walked with her silently homewards.
As we neared Temple Bar, I could not refrain from questioning her.
“You are silent, Jeannette?” said I.
“The better company for you,” said she.
“Are you tired?”
“Yes.”