Poor Peter Odd had himself committed a pathetic folly, and, as a result, smiles might be tinged with bitterness.
A captured trout presently demanded concentrated attention. The vigorous fish required long playing until worn out, when he was deftly secured in the landing-net and despatched with merciful promptitude; indeed, a little look of nervous distaste might have roused in an unsympathetic looker-on conjectures as to a rather weak strain—a foolish width of pity in Peter Odd’s character.
“A beauty,” he mentally ejaculated. He sat down in the shade. It was hot; the long, thick grass invited a lolling rest.
On the other side of the hedge was a rustic bathing-cabin, and from it Odd heard the laughing chatter of young voices. The adjoining property was a small one belonging to a Captain Archinard. Odd had seen little of him; his wife was understood to be something of an invalid, and he had two girls—these their voices, no doubt. Odd took off his hat and mopped his forehead, looking at the little landing-wharf which he could just see beyond the hedge, and where one could moor boats or dive off into the deepness of the water. The latter form of aquatic exercise was probably about to take place, for Odd heard—
“I can swim beautifully already, papa,” in a confident young voice—a gay voice, quiet, and yet excited too by the prospect of a display of prowess.
A tall, thin girl of about fourteen stepped out on to the landing. A bathing-dress is not as a rule a very graceful thing, yet this child, her skirt to her knee, a black silk sash knotted around her waist, with her slim white legs and charming feet, was as graceful as a young Amazon on a Grecian frieze. A heavy mass of braids, coiled up to avoid a wetting, crowned her small head. She was not pretty; Odd saw that immediately, even while admiring the well-poised figure, its gallantly held little torso and light energy. Her profile showed a short nose and prominent chin, inharmoniously accentuated. She seemed really ugly when her sister joined her; the sister was beautiful. Odd roused himself a little from his half recumbency to look at the sister appreciatively. Her slimness was exaggerated to an extreme—an almost fluttering lightness; her long arms and legs seemed to flash their whiteness on the green; she had an exquisite profile, and her soft black hair swept up into the same coronet of coils. Captain Archinard joined them as they stood side by side.
“You had better race,” he said, looking down into the water, and then away to the next band of shadow. “Dive in, and race to that clump of aspens. This is a jolly bit for diving.”
“But, papa, we shall wet our hair fearfully,” said the elder girl—the ugly one—for so Odd already ungallantly designated her. “We usually get in on this shallower side and swim off. We have never tried diving, for it takes so long to dry our hair. Taylor would not like it at all.”
“It is so deep, too,” said the beauty in rather a faltering voice—unfortunately faltering, for her father turned sharply on her.
“Afraid, hey? You mustn’t be a coward, Hilda.”