“Who is David Rendell, Esquire?”
“Mr. Rendell is a friend of Jimmie's, I believe.”
“I have never heard of him. What's he like?”
“I don't know. Jimmie never speaks of him,” replied Aline.
“That's odd.”
The young man threw the letter on the table and returned to the subject of the outing. She must accompany him. He felt a perfect watercolour working itself up within him. One of those dreamy bits of backwater. He had a title for it already, “The Heart of Summer.” The difference her presence in the punt would make to the picture would be that between life and deadness.
The girl fluttered a shy, pleased glance at him. But she loved to tease; besides, had she not but lately awakened to the sweet novelty of her young womanhood?
“Perhaps Jimmie won't let me go.”
Tony sprang to his feet. “Jimmie won't let you go!” he exclaimed in indignant echo. “Did he ever deny you a pleasure since you were born?”
Her eyes sparkled at his tribute to the adored one's excellences. “That's just where it is, you see, Tony. His very goodness to me won't let me do things sometimes.”