“I dare say you are going into the interior, sir.”
“Not far.”
“There is fine fishing there,” persisted Clyde.
“So I am told; but I haven’t much time to spend in such sport, and I am afraid my wife would not enjoy it as well as I should. Do you go to the interior?”
“Yes, sir; I intend to do so when my mother and sister arrive. My mother goes a-fishing with me.”
“Does she, indeed? You are from England, I suppose,” added Paul, who suspected that the young man was one of those lonesome travellers eager to make a friend, and actually suffering from the want of one.
“Yes; Mockhill Manor, New Forest, Hampshire.”
“Are you travelling alone?” asked Paul, who was full of sympathy for the apparent loneliness of the young man.
“I am alone just now, but I expect my mother and sister from Christiansand to-night,” replied Clyde.
“Can I do anything for you?” inquired Paul, who, after this explanation, did not regard the young gentleman’s situation as so hopeless.