“Never, to know it,” said Chap, “except in pictures.”
“Well, that is one, sir. She is a republican by birth, from some place in the North, but she married a Spanish count, and they have an orange-grove in the back country here.”
“Is it necessary for her to hold herself aloof?” asked Chap.
“Aloof!” said the old gentleman.
“Yes,” said Chap; “she has been alone since I first saw her. I should think she’d be glad to have somebody to talk to.”
“She might,” said the other, “if she could meet with persons of her own rank and station. But, otherwise, she would probably prefer to be aloof, as you call it, sir.”
About half an hour after this, Chap borrowed a fishing-line from the cook, for all his traps had been left at Sanford, and went to the stern of the boat, where the countess sat with a novel in her hand. Taking a position not far from her, he threw out his line, and let it troll behind the boat.
After a while she raised her eyes from her book and, looking at Chap, asked,—
“What are you fishing for?”
“Good!” said Chap to himself. “She has broken through her feudal bonds, and speaks to the masses.”