Now all of her senses were alert and tingling. Perhaps it was a chance meeting; perhaps a plot; perhaps—
But it might be any one of so many things that it was not worth while to speculate. It was entirely a matter for observation.
Rosalind advanced cautiously, taking care that no stick snapped or stone rolled underfoot, and keeping herself screened behind the small trees and bushes that sheltered the path. Presently she sighted them. The spectacle was one that surprised her.
Sam and the Englishman were seated on the ground, facing each other. Between them lay a folded blanket. The boatman was shuffling a pack of cards.
"What I can't make out," Sam was saying, "is the luck of it—you walking right into my parlor, just as the fly went calling on the spider, and without an invitation at that. I'd been trying to think up a scheme to get you here, and, by jingo! you save me the trouble."
"Um—ah—just rowing about a bit, you know. Exercise and that sort of thing. Saw your island, and came ashore to have a look."
"And you didn't know it was my hangout, eh?"
The boatman was watching the Englishman closely.
"'Pon my word, no! Awfully sorry I've intruded."
"Intruded! Man alive, you're as welcome as good news! Sit still; you positively mustn't be going yet. I insist. I hear you're something of a card-player. That's why— Confound that pack! My fingers are like thumbs lately."