“Then the gods are certainly with you.”
“They are,” he confessed brazenly.
“I think I shall change my fly,” she determined. “What should you advise?”
He picked out for her a pretty tasseled thing which contained a touch of crimson such as was on his.
“I’d try this,” he counseled. “And I shall stand by and see how it works.”
“But you’re going to fish too?”
“No. I’ve discharged my filial duties. Your father has his trout.”
“Then we must get one for Aunt Philomela.”
“I must refrain. I’m under certain obligations.”
“Obligations?” she questioned.