“Who is he?” asked Maud.
“It’s Duncan Fraser, my lady,” said another voice.
“Oh, then, Duncan, please,” she said. “Is that rude of me? I am so sorry. But, you see, I know Duncan: he has often gaffed fish for me. Get further down, Duncan, and lie down—get below him; don’t let him see you.”
But there were several agitating moments yet. Each time the fish drifted with the stream she towed him a little nearer to the bank; but though he was very weak now and his protests feeble, he was still capable of momentary violences. But at last he was a mere log, floating with fin out of the water and broad silvery side shining. With a swift, crafty movement, Duncan had him on the bank.
Maud laid down her rod and turned away.
“Kill him quick, Duncan,” she said. “Is it done?” Then, with fine inconsistence: “Oh, what a darling!” she cried. “Quite fresh from the sea, too!”
Then for the first time Maud turned to look at the owner of the voice, and found a tall, pleasant-looking young man smiling at her.
“I am really extremely obliged to you,” she said. “I don’t see how I could have landed him without your gaff. There is nowhere in the pool where you can tail a fish.”
He laughed at this.
“Why, I think that is so,” he said. “But I am much more your debtor. I’ve never seen a fish so beautifully handled. Look at your tackle, too! Well, I never!”