“Of course you haven’t it,” I snapped, full of anger at his tone of irreproachable respect, and at my own helplessness. I had not even seen the place by daylight, and the woodland behind me and the lake at my feet were things of shadow and mystery. In my rage I stamped my foot.
“Lead the way back,” I roared.
I had turned toward the woodland when suddenly there stole across the water a voice,—a woman’s voice, deep, musical and deliberate.
“Really, I shouldn’t be so angry if I were you!” it said, with a lingering note on the word angry.
“Who are you? What are you doing there?” I bawled.
“Just enjoying a little tranquil thought!” was the drawling, mocking reply.
Far out upon the water I heard the dip and glide of the canoe, and saw faintly its outline for a moment; then it was gone. The lake, the surrounding wood, were an unknown world,—the canoe, a boat of dreams. Then again came the voice:
“Good night, merry gentlemen!”
“It was a lady, sir,” remarked Bates, after we had waited silently for a full minute.
“How clever you are!” I sneered. “I suppose ladies prowl about here at night, shooting ducks or into people’s houses.”