“There's my cousin Katie,” said Tom, looking stealthily at Hardy; “I won't allow that there's any face in the country-side to match hers. What do you say, Jack?”
Hardy was confused by this sudden appeal.
“I haven't been long enough here to judge,” he said. “I have always considered Miss Winter very beautiful. I see it is nearly seven o'clock, and I have a call or two to make in the village. I should think you ought to get some rest after this tiring day, Captain East?”
“What are you going to do, Tom?”
“Well, I was thinking of just throwing a fly over the mill tail. There's such a fine head of water on.”
“Isn't it too bright?”
“Well, perhaps it is a little; marrying weather and fishing weather don't agree. Only what else is there to do? But if you are tired,” he added, looking at East, “I don't care a straw about it. I shall stay with you.”
“Not a bit of it. I shall hobble down with you, and lie on the bank and smoke a cheroot.”
“No, you shan't walk, at any rate. I can borrow the constable's pony, old Nibble, the quietest beast in the world. He'll stand for a week if we like, while I fish and you lie and look on. I'll be off and bring him around in two minutes.”
“Then we shall meet for a clumsy tea at nine at my lodgings,” said Hardy, as he went off to his pastoral duties.