“I suppose she’s a canoeist.”
“Everybody’s that, around here. I mean the people who live all the year round. A good many people live on islands. They like it. This island, you see, is a big one. About two or three acres, say. That gives Miss Remsen room for tennis courts and gardens and pretty much anything she wants, and the house is very pleasant. Nothing like Pleasure Dome, but a bigger house than the one we’re in.”
We turned then, and started off toward the spot where Kee elected to do his fishing.
“Hello,” he said, as we moved on, “there’s Alma now. That’s Miss Remsen.”
We were now about midway between the Moore bungalow and the Island of Whistling Reeds. I looked, to see a girl come down to the floating dock of the boathouse, spring into a canoe and paddle away.
I said nothing aloud, but to myself I said it was the girl I had seen in a canoe the night before.
There was no mistaking that slim, lithe figure, that graceful capable way of managing the boat, and she even wore what seemed to me to be the same clothes, a white skirt and white sweater. She had on a small white felt hat, and I noticed that she did not limp at all. As I had surmised, the limp was occasioned by some slight and temporary strain or bruise.
“Well, don’t eat her up with your eyes!” exclaimed Moore, and I realized I had been staring.
Also I was just about to tell him of seeing her before, but the chaffing tone he used somehow shut me up on the subject.
So I only said, gaily: “Bowled over by the Lady of the Lake!” and laughed back at him.