He looked up from his line. She was turned a little away. When she was standing there alone with him the matter seemed simple enough to be sure. It had from the beginning until Carl came in. The problem now was to find out just what had become of Carl.
“As far as your father is concerned it seems to have straightened out,” he admitted.
“And as far as Joe is concerned,” she added.
“And Aunt Philomela,” he nodded.
“Yes,” she agreed hastily.
He drew his line from the water and whipped it afresh across the stream.
“Which leaves,” he concluded, “you and Carl and myself.”
She dropped her fly below a clump of alders.
“Are you using a Silver Moth again?” she inquired.
“No,” he confessed.