“Oh!” cried Rose.—“the dear mama! She said—she said a man who could fascinate and not hold on to one. Oh, mama, how could you?”
“But I didn’t. I never meant such a thing.”
“Yes! yes!” they cried; and, laughing, got up from table amidst continued protests from the innocent punster.
Rose followed her father on to the porch.
“Mrs. Maybrook will be over at ten. She wants to see you. I told her you would not fish to-day.”
“What is it she wants?”
“I do not know. Something serious, I fancy.”
“No new trouble for her, I hope. By the way, old Polycarp’s bowman is sick to-day and cannot go with you. Anne, for a wonder, wishes to go on the water. Ned shall take Pierre. Not to disappoint you, I sent Polycarp early up to the clearings to get a bowman. He will be back shortly. Good luck to you!” And he went in to his letters, while Rose arranged her fishing-basket, put in it a couple of books, and sat down to look over the bright assortment of feathered lures in her father’s fly-book. Now and then she glanced up the river, but no boat appeared.
Meanwhile Mrs. Maybrook came, and went. Rose heard her father say to her, as she went out:
“No; it must not be left in doubt.” He was of opinion that it might mean little; but it might, on the other hand, mean much. Many are tempted, and few fall. The idea of crime on this quiet river seemed almost absurd to him. He added, “I shall mention it, you may feel sure of that, Mrs. Maybrook. A Lady Macbeth in business up here is queer enough.”