Her head nodded wistfully. "Yes! Guess it would," she whispered, as I pushed her boat out into the water where the darkness swallowed it up.
CHAPTER XX
Fishing!
In the fulfilling of a promise, I called the following evening on Miss Grant.
It was the first of a number of such visits, for I found that the old feeling of antagonism between us had entirely disappeared and, consequently, I enjoyed the sociability refreshingly.
Our meetings, while not by any means of the 'friendly admiration' kind, were of a nature beneficial to both of us.
She learned that I was an Englishman of good family. I gathered, her mother had been a Virginian and her father an Englishman; that she loved the American Continent and always considered the United States her country as her mother had done before her. But further than this we did not get, for we were both diffident in talking of our lives prior to our coming to Golden Crescent. Still, we had many never-failing topics of conversation, many subjects to discuss in literature, music, philosophy and economics.
We travelled along in our acquaintance easily,—leisurely,—as if time were eternal and the world were standing still awaiting our good pleasure.
Late one afternoon, when I was sitting out on the rocks, near the oil barns at the end of the wharf, enjoying the cooling breezes after the trying heat of that midsummer's day, I saw Miss Grant come down the path with her fishing lines in her hand and her sweater-coat over her arm. She went to her boat and started to pull it toward the water.