“To beat carpets with, silly! What does one usually do with a fishing-rod?”
“But we don’t know anything about fishing, Jack.”
“You ought to know after all the pains I took last summer to try to teach you how to cast a fly.”
“That’s true enough,” admitted Marjorie. “I hadn’t thought of fishing.”
“What? Do you mean to tell me that you are going to be on the water for two weeks—fourteen whole days—and you don’t expect to do any fishing? Well, if that isn’t just like a girl!”
“But I’d be the only one among all those girls,” argued Marjorie. “I don’t think any of the rest of them would ever think of such a thing.”
“Well, what if you are? Just think how Ruth would strut around if she were the only one to think of it. Can’t you just see her?”
“You don’t seem to care so much about Ruth, do you, Jack?” said Marjorie, glancing up at her brother through her lashes.
Jack studied the figure in the carpet, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“N-no,” he replied, a bit awkwardly. “I used to think I did, but—I’ve been seeing things.”