“Oh, I know the water,” she said, “and that makes so much difference, though I couldn’t explain how.”
Then suddenly the conjunction of a total stranger—American, too, so she could hear—with a rod on her brother’s river, in company with one of her brother’s gillies, struck her as odd.
“I am afraid my fish and I have detained you very long,” she said. “You are fishing at Scarsdale, I suppose.”
“No, I am fishing here,” he said. “At least, I shall walk down a mile or two, and try the lower pools.”
This was more solidly incomprehensible. Yet the man did not look in the least like a poacher or trespasser. And how did it come about that Duncan was with him? Maud grew just a shade dignified, though she was still quite cordial.
“I’m sure you will excuse me,” she said; “but, you know, this is my brother’s river, Lord Thurso’s.”
Again the stranger laughed with sincere and quiet merriment.
“Oh yes, I know,” he said. “But, you see, he has been kind enough to let the fishing to me until the end of July.”
Maud stood quite silent a moment. A situation so horrible was dawning on her that she was unable to speak. What had he said? That Thurso had let him the fishing? Then, what was she? A poacher, caught red-handed by the tenant himself.
“What?” she said. “Say it again.”