“Do you remember the locks, how frightened you were; you had never been through a lock before; and the beautiful old red brick house showing upon the lofty woods; and coming back in the calm of the evening, passing the different boats, the one where the girls lay back in the arms of the young men, the flapping sail, and the dreamy influences of the woods where we climbed and looked into space over the railing?” “At the green-table--don't you remember?” “Yes, I remember every hour of that day; we had lunch at the 'Roebuck.'” “You haven't spoken of the lady we saw there. Lady Something--I forget what you said her name was; you said she had been making up to you.” “I dined with her one night, and we went to the theatre.” “You may do that without it being said that you are making up to a gentleman.” “Of course; I should never think of saying you made up to me.” “I should hope not, indeed.” “I should never think of accusing you of having made up to me; you have always treated me very badly.” Lizzie did not answer. He looked at her, puzzled and perplexed, and he hoped that neither the girls nor the old lady had understood. “I am sorry; I really didn't mean to offend you. All I meant to say was that the lady we saw at the 'Roebuck' had been rather civil to me; had--well I don't know how to put it--shown an inclination to flirt with me--will that suit you?--and that I had not availed myself of my chances because I was in love with you.” Encouraged by a sunny smile, Frank continued: “You wouldn't listen to me; you were very cruel.” “I am sure I didn't mean to be cruel; I went out on the river with you, and we had a very pleasant day. You didn't say then I was cruel.” “No, you were very nice that day; it was the happiest day of my life. I was in love with you; I shall never care for any one as I cared for you.” “I don't believe you.” “I swear it is true. When you left the 'Gaiety' I searched London for you. If you had only cared for me we might have been very happy. As sure as a fellow loves a woman, so sure is she to like some other chap. Tell me, why did you go away and leave no address?” “I did leave an address.” “Well, we won't discuss that. Why didn't you write to me? You knew my address. It's no use saying you didn't.” “Well, I suppose I was in love with some one else.” “Were you? You always denied it. Ah! so you were in love with some one else? I knew it--I knew it was that thick-set fellow with the black moustache. I wonder how you could like him--the amount of whisky and water he used to drink.” “Yes, usen't he? I have served him with as many as six whiskies in an afternoon--Irish, he always drank Irish.” “How could you like a man who drank?” “But it wasn't he--I assure you; I give you my word of honour. It really wasn't. I'd tell you if it was.” “Well, who was it, then? It couldn't be the old man with the beard and white teeth?” “No.” “Was it that great tall fellow, clean shaven?”