noon
Another boat paddling up the lake had been spied : solitude was not merely shared with a rival , but violated by numbers . In the first case , we detest the man ; in the second , we fly from an outraged scene . He wrote a line or so in his book , hurriedly paid his bill , and started , full of the matter he had briefly committed to his pages . At noon , sitting beside the beck that runs from the lake , he was overtaken by the gentleman he had left behind , and accosted in the informal English style , with all the politeness possible to a nervously blunt manner : ` This book is yours , -- I have no doubt it is yours ; I am glad to be able to restore it ; I should be glad to be the owner-writer of the contents , I mean . I have to beg your excuse ; I found it lying open ; I looked at the page , I looked through the whole ; I am quite at your mercy . ' Woodseer jumped at the sight of his note-book , felt for the emptiness of his pocket , and replied : ` Thank you , thank you . It 's of use to me , though to no one else . '