The sun glowed on her splendid red hair; she switched the slender rod about rather awkwardly, and every time the cast of flies became entangled in a nodding willow she set her red lips tight and with an impatient "Mais, c'est trop bête! Mais, c'est vraiment trop——"
It was evident that she had not seen him where he lay on the wall; the chances were she would pass on—indeed her back was already toward him—when the unexpected happened: a trout leaped for a gnat and fell back into the pool with a resounding splash, sending ring on ring of sunny wavelets toward the shore.
"Ah! Te voilà!" she said aloud, swinging her line free for a cast.
Smith saw what was coming and tried to dodge, but the silk line whistled on the back-cast, and the next moment his cap was snatched from his head and deposited some twenty feet out in the centre of the pool.
The amazement of the fair angler was equal to his own as she looked hastily back over her shoulder and discovered him on the wall.
There is usually something undignified about a man whose hat has been knocked off; to laugh is as fatal as to show irritation; and Smith did neither, but quietly dropped over to her side of the wall, saying, "I'm awfully sorry I spoiled your cast. Don't mind the cap; that trout was a big one, and he may rise again."
He had spoken in English, and she answered in very pretty English: "I am so sorry—could I help you to recover your hat?"
"Thank you; if you would let me take your rod a moment."
"Willingly, monsieur."