"All right—what time?" McTaggart liked his youngest guest.
"About five. If we find it's hot we can lie up somewhere in the dykes."
He referred to the curious intricate scheme of irrigation in the plain that lies between the hills and sea—the famous draining of the marshes.
For the low land looks like a chequer board, crossed and recrossed by narrow streams that widen into two big lakes—a favorite haunt for wild fowl.
"I've always wanted to explore those long ditches in a boat. I tried once and was nearly poisoned—my keel kept sticking in the mud."
"Exactly—that's the trouble—the smell!" Don Cesare nodded gaily. "That's why I've had this punt made flat bottomed and very narrow. In the deep parts you can use a paddle and where it's shallow a long pole—against the bank—not in the water!"
He turned to the Countess with a smile.
"Do come and see us off—and we'll take you a little way to try it. Further on there are low boughs, not designed to suit ladies' hats."
The pretty woman smiled back, looking at him with her wide, dark eyes.
"I'm so sorry—but I can't—it's my evening with Marco for the Casino."