‘As if I had not told you a hundred times already that I am not going to give you up for any one in the wide world!’ ‘It would make me ever, ever so unhappy to think that I should come as an obstacle between your father and you.’ ‘Don’t be a little goose. I’m old enough to choose a wife for myself; and I’ve chosen you, and mean to have you in spite of everybody. If the pater chooses to turn rusty about it, I can’t help it. He did the very same thing when he was a young fellow. He ran away with my mother—oh, I’ve heard all about it!—and I’m not aware that he ever had cause to regret having done so. Of course it would be pleasanter—a jolly sight pleasanter—to have his consent and good wishes and all that; but if he won’t give us them, I daresay we shall be able to get along somehow or other without them. There are worse things in the world than poverty, when two people love each other as you and I love each other, sweet one.’ What bold beings are these lovers! Nothing daunts them. They will take the world by storm and set Fortune herself at defiance. A very Paladin seemed Archie in the eyes of the girl who loved him. How beautifully he spoke—what noble sentiments fell from his lips! ‘I am not afraid to face poverty or anything else,’ she murmured, ‘so long as I know that you care for me.’ Tears trembled in her eyes. ‘And that I shall never, never cease to do!’ he responded fervently. He had sidled a little closer to her on the rustic bench, and he now tried, after a fashion old as the hills, to insinuate one arm gently round her waist. ‘No—no, Archie, dear, you must not do that! We are not alone. Although that young curate pretends to be reading, he’s watching us all the time.’ ‘Confound his impudence!’ growled Archie with a glance over his shoulder at the obnoxious individual. Then he drew exactly an inch and a half further away, and proceeded to light a fresh cigarette. The fact was that, after the immemorial fashion of lovers, our two young lunatics had been so absorbed in themselves and their own affairs that they had had no eyes to note the fresh arrivals which the last steamer had brought to the hotel. One of these was a young man dressed in the garb of a modern curate. The afternoon was hot, and as he came slowly up the path that led from the level of the lake to the elevated ground on which the hotel was built, he fanned himself with the broad brim of his low-crowned felt hat. Behind him marched a porter carrying a bulky portmanteau, a mackintosh, and an exceedingly slim umbrella. A little way from the path stood an immense elm, round the bole of which a seat had been fixed for the convenience of visitors. It looked cool and tempting; the young man glanced at it and hesitated.