"Alida!"
"What?"—continuing to drive tacks.
"After all these years of friendship it—it is perfectly painful for me to contemplate a possible lawsuit—"
"It will be more painful to contemplate an actual one, Mr. Portlaw."
"Alida, do you really mean that you—my neighbour and friend—are going to press this unnatural complaint?"
"I certainly do."
Portlaw shook his head violently, and passed his gloved hand over his eyes as though to rouse himself from a distressing dream; all of which expressive pantomime was lost on Mrs. Ascott, who was busy driving tacks.
"I simply cannot credit my senses," he said mournfully.
"You ought to try; it will be still more difficult later," she observed, backing her horse so that she might inspect her handiwork from the proper point of view.
Portlaw looked askance at the sign. It warned people not to shoot, fish, cut trees, dam streams, or build fires under penalty of the law; and was signed, "Alida Ascott."