Evelyn shook her head. “You don’t know where to stop, Kit, and greediness is rash. If you got another day, it might not be glorious. But the others see us, and I want some tea.”
They crossed the grass and Kit threw down his creel by Mrs. Carson’s chair and pushed back his cap. His unconscious pose was firm and somewhat alert; his eyes sparkled joyously. Agatha thought him vivid; it was perhaps the proper word, but her calm glance got disturbed. She knew much about pain and suffering, and Kit could not escape man’s common inheritance. So far, he was marked by a careless happiness, but he must face trouble, and she wondered. Mrs. Haigh studied Evelyn, but saw nothing to account for Kit’s satisfaction. Evelyn’s look was rather tired.
“Was the fishing good?” Mrs. Carson asked.
“Pretty good,” said Kit, and opened his basket.
“Troutlings! The best is hardly four ounces,” Ledward remarked. “You are a queer fellow, Kit. When there are big fish in a pool three hundred yards off, you climb the moor for things like these.”
“The tarn is a long way off; perhaps that accounts for it. I expect you don’t know the satisfaction going somewhere gives. Then the peat water was amber and silver, the yellow bent-grass shone, and the moors melted into glorious blue. Sunshine, line and color! When you get all that, you don’t bother about fish.”
“Evelyn waits for some tea, and you might give me your cup,” said Mrs. Carson. “A telegram for you arrived two or three hours ago. Perhaps you ought to see what it is about.”
Kit sat down and when he tore open the envelope he frowned.
“They want me at the office. I must report to Colvin, the manager, at ten o’clock in the morning, and he does not apologize for bothering me. If I dared refuse, I wouldn’t go.”
“Perhaps they want you to design a liner,” Ledward remarked.