'Mr Jimson,' she cried, 'Mr Jimson! here, come!--you must come, you
know, sooner or later, for I can't get off without you. O, don't be so
exceedingly silly! O, please, come!'
Still there was no reply.
'If he is here he must be mad,' she thought, with a little fear. And the
next moment she remembered he had probably gone aboard like herself in
a boat. In that case she might as well see the houseboat, and she pushed
open the door and stepped in. Under the table, where he lay smothered
with dust, Gideon's heart stood still.
There were the remains of Jimson's lunch. 'He likes rather nice things
to eat,' she thought. 'O, I am sure he is quite a delightful man. I
wonder if he is as good-looking as Mr Forsyth. Mrs Jimson--I don't
believe it sounds as nice as Mrs Forsyth; but then "Gideon" is so really
odious! And here is some of his music too; this is delightful. Orange
Pekoe--O, that's what he meant by some kind of tea.' And she trilled
with laughter. 'Adagio molto espressivo, sempre legato,' she read
next. (For the literary part of a composer's business Gideon was well
equipped.
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