“This particular twenty means a great deal to me,” he interrupted.
She rose. “I was going down to try a cast or two,” she said.
“With a net?” asked Dick. “I should like to see that.”
“There’s a fishing rod in the handle of the net,” she explained, ignoring the hint. “I keep the net rigged because I help my father collect. Entomology is his specialty, and there are a few rare moths here that he hopes to get.”
“Am I sufficiently introduced now to ask if I may walk along with you?”
“I’m sorry I was so—so snippy,” she said sweetly. “To make up for it, you may.”
“Are you here particularly for collecting moths?” he asked, stepping to her side.
“Yes, one or two kinds that my father and I are studying. I play butterfly in the winter and hunt them in the summer. Everyone here has a purpose. Father and I are adding to the sum of human knowledge on Lepidoptera. Mr. Haynes is spending his vacation with Helga. Helga is resting, before taking up her musical studies. You ought to have a purpose. What has brought you here?”
Now, Dick Colton, like many big men, was awkward, and like most awkward men, was shy about women. Therefore, it was with a sort of stunned amazement and admiration for his own audacity that he found himself looking straight into Dorothy Ravenden’s unfathomable eyes as he replied briefly:
“Fate.”