Ludovic gazed at his hands as they clasped his knee, then he looked sideways at his companion.
"Here, meaning—meaning Brockhurst, dear Miss St. Quentin?" he asked very sweetly.
"Meaning England," she declared.
"England?—ah! really. That pleases me better. Patriotism is an excellent virtue. The remark is not a wholly original one, but it comes in handy just now, all the same."
The young lady's head went up. Her face straightened. She was displeased. Turning sideways, she leaned both hands on the stonework and stared down into the water. But speedily she repented.
"See how the fish rise," she said. "It really is a pity one hasn't a fly-rod."
"I was under the impression you once told me that you objected to taking life, except in self-defense or for purposes of commissariat. The trout would almost certainly be muddy. And I am quite unconscious of being exposed to any danger—at least from the trout."
Miss St. Quentin kept her eyes fixed upon the water.
"I told you my temper was out of sorts," she said.
"Is that a warning?" Ludovic inquired, with the utmost mildness.