“Oh,” she murmured in relief, “that explains it.”
“You’ll come with me?”
She hesitated.
“The sun is almost too bright for fishing,” she faltered.
“The sun is not too bright to go down by the brook,” he asserted.
“But if we go, we shall have to fish,” she exclaimed instantly.
“Very well,” he agreed. “We will fish even if we catch nothing.”
She went to the closet and brought out her big hat, the fishing-poles, the book of flies, the basket, and, this time, the landing-net. At sight of it he drew a deep breath. It recalled to him his oath to the king trout. He must keep true to that no matter what complications it brought about.
And she, as she gathered the things together, grew uneasy. That, however, was nothing unusual. She could not recall a minute in his presence when she had ever felt anything else. One never knew what he was going to say next or what odd turn he would give the simplest platitudes of conversation. She felt much safer when Aunt Philomela was near except that even then he would generally contrive some argument that ended by involving them all. No—she could not honestly say that she was any the happier for having Aunt Philomela at hand. She could not say honestly that she did not now look forward to a morning with Barnes by the side of Schuyler brook. She anticipated it with a degree of pleasure that in itself was discomforting. She did not trust herself as she did three weeks ago.
In the meanwhile she had put on her hat and again succeeded in tying beneath her chin a most wonderful bow-knot.