"I think, Major," he said, "that if we mean to catch any lobsters to-day, we ought to be starting."
The Major grunted.
"Lobsters! Can we catch lobsters here?" said Miss King. "I should like to help. I have never caught a lobster."
"It's not exactly a sport for ladies," said Meldon. "The lobster is an ugly fish to tackle unless you are accustomed to him. Besides, we shall have to take off our shoes and stockings."
"But I only mean to look on. I shouldn't run any risks."
She had in her mind at the moment a scene in her new novel into which lobster fishing, as practised in the west of Ireland, might be introduced with great effect. The idea that there was some risk about the sport added to its value for her purpose. She foresaw the possibility of vividly picturesque descriptions of bare-limbed, sun-tanned muscular folk plunging among weedy rocks, or spattered with yellow spume, staggering shorewards under a load of captured lobsters. But Meldon was most unsympathetic.
"Besides," he said, "the chief haunt of the lobsters is at the other side of the island, quite a long way off."
"I should like the walk," said Miss King, "and I'm sure there's a charming view."
"It's very rough," said Meldon, "and you'd get your feet wet."
He nudged the Major as he spoke. It did not seem fair that the making of all the excuses should be left to him.