"Are you staying at the Bell?" Margaret inquired.
"Yes. I've come down for some trout-fishing," he answered.
"There seems to be some quite good fishing here," Peter said, bridging yet another gap in the conversation.
"Quite good," agreed the dark young man. He shifted his rod from one hand to the other. "Er - can I reach the right-of-way from here, or must I get back to the road?"
"Oh no, I'll show you the way," Margaret said, with her friendly smile. "It's only just across the drive."
"It's very good of' you, but really you must not trouble…'
"It's no trouble. And this place is so overgrown with trees and bushes you can easily miss the way. Peter, you'd better go back and tell Celia it's all right. Come on, Mr. - I don't think I know your name?"
"Strange," said the young man. "Michael Strange."
"I'm Margaret Fortescue," she told him. "This is my brother, and this is my brother-in-law, Mr. Malcolm."
Again the young man bowed. "Are you staying long in this part of the world?" asked Charles.