“Lost him, papa?”
“Lost him! Of course. My usual luck. Lightly hooked in the lip.—Eh?—No. A badly-tempered hook snapped short off. I wish the scoundrel who made it—Dinah, my dear, would you mind walking just out of hearing. There are a few good old trooper’s oaths just suitable to this occasion, and I should like to let them off.”
Dinah did not stir, but a sad smile crossed her features, and she stood waiting while her father selected a fresh fly, straightened the gut, and began to fasten it to the collar of his line.
“Such a pity! Just as I had hooked him too. I wonder whether he will try again. I was going to say what a deal of trouble one does take, and what an amount of time one does waste in fishing. And so you think that I need not take you up to town?”
“Oh, no, no,” cried Dinah quickly. “I am quite well.”
“Ahem!”
“Well, nearly well again, dear. Don’t fidget about me, pray.”
“Oh, no. You are of no consequence whatever, not the slightest; and I am to take no interest in you of any kind. Ah! you are a strange girl, Di, but you make my life bearable, only it seems brutally selfish to keep you down here in this wilderness.”
“You know I am very happy here.”
“No, I do not,” said the Major, whipping the stream rather viciously. “You have looked miserable for a month past.”