doubt borrow one for her there.

Mr. Lauriston gasped; he had been on the brink of a revelation; the mystery of his morning walk had almost been selfbetrayed.

"What did you say, dear?" asked his wife unsuspiciously.

"I thought Martin might have one, perhaps," he replied; "but it is not very likely." Cicely shared that opinion; otherwise she would not have been so eloquent. Martin, however, was summoned. Yes; he had a rod that would suit Miss Cicely nicely, and he hurried off to get it with pride.

"How delightful of him!" she exclaimed with creditable promptitude. Her sister laughed; to the trained ear Cicely's tone lacked conviction.

Before Martin returned the others separated. Mrs. Lauriston could not long detach herself from her duties, and Agatha and Doris started for the lovely old cottage. Mr. Lauriston sat down by his younger niece and began to smoke. "I think you're very mean, Uncle Henry," she said presently.

"Mean?" echoed Mr. Lauriston, a little guiltily.

"Yes, very; after all I've done for you," she insisted.

"So you really have been doing something," he said with fine gaiety.

"I've been holding my tongue," she answered darkly. Mr. Lauriston softened an ungallant commonplace. "You turned the conversation on to me because you didn't want them to know where you went."

"I only went for a walk," answered Mr. Lauriston stoutly.

Cicely was not to be put off. "Are they nice men?" she asked.

"Yes-whom do you mean?" amended quickly.

he

"The other party, of course. Where else should you have been? You know you were dying for a man to talk to, weren't you, Uncle Henry?"

Mr. Lauriston attempted polite eva

sion; but he was as successful as his niece had been in professing joy about the impending rod.

"You may as well confess, Uncle Henry," she laughed. "I won't betray you," she added melodramatically. "Whom did you see, and how many, and what are they like?"

"I only saw two," said Mr. Lauriston, yielding; "the useful and the ornamental members, I should say. They seem pleasant, hospitable young fellows." His eye wandered involuntarily to the tin of pink sherbet on the tablecloth.

"Was that the ornamental one I saw you shake hands with?" asked Cicely. Mr. Lauriston understood now. "Where were you?" he asked,

"Oh, I was in the boat down there." Cicely waved her hand vaguely. "Doris had run it into the bank," she explained, with a sublime disregard of history. "Was it the ornamental one?" she persisted after her explanation.

Mr. Lauriston conceded the point. Cicely's "Oh" was no great tribute to the magnificent Charles.

"But how did you see?" enquired Mr. Lauriston. He was piqued at the failure of his strategy, but like an ex-volunteer resolved to learn by his mistakes.

"Through the trees," she explained. "Doris was very energetic, and she rowed so hard that when I pulled the wrong string, or something, the boat ran itself right into the mud. So I was taking a rest when you came. Poor boy, he looked quite disappointed when you wouldn't bring him any further. Did he want some more men to talk to as well?"

The fortunate arrival of Martin with the rod saved Mr. Lauriston from further cross-examination. Cicely looked round, but Aunt Charlotte was still within view. As there was no escape, she accepted the inevitable.

"Thank you, Martin." she said, eye

ing the offering doubtfully. "It's-it's rather short, isn't it? Which-which end do I hold?"

"It's got to be put up, miss," said Martin tolerantly: he had not heard Cicely's enthusiastic tribute to the twenty-pound trout; "and then you hold it by the thick end."

"Don't get your feet wet," called Aunt Charlotte from the distance, "and don't walk in the damp grass, and be very careful not to fall in."

Cicely consented to observe these instructions heartily enough.

"You'll have to catch some fish now," laughed her uncle, preparing to take his afternoon nap. "There's no help for it, Cicely."

She prepared to move with deliberation, by indicating certain cushions and other necessaries it would be well for her to have. Then she walked slowly towards the boat, which was moored a few yards lower down; it was just out of sight and in a shady corner.

But Martin was firm. "You won't catch anything there, miss. It isn't a good place. I'd best row you round to the mill-pool,"

"You'll fetch me back, Martin, before tea?"

Martin relieved her anxiety on this point, and after enquiring minutely whether he had brought the rug and the cushions and the novels and the chocolates, she got into the boat.

"You won't need to steer, miss," said Martin prudently, taking the sculls; and sighing her satisfaction she settled herself comfortably in the stern, enjoying the easy motion as he pulled down the back-water, which was well shaded with over-hanging willows, round into the main stream and up towards the mill and the lock.

At the lower corner of the pool the stream from the mill-wheel eddied back under the roots of a clump of willows. Martin sounded the depth with a scull and announced that this was a likely

spot for perch; "and you will be nicely shaded, miss," he added, bringing the boat in to the bank.

"Have you got everything I want?" asked Miss Cicely when she had landed safely. The everything was disembarked and arranged,-the rug, four cushions, a parasol, three novels, and the box of chocolates. These were disposed in a hollow between two trees which formed a kind of natural chair sheltered from view by some bushes higher up the sloping bank. Cicely sank into her nest comfortably, ate a chocolate, and thanked Martin prettily. She had evidently got all she required for her fishing.

Martin, however, knew his duty. "Here's the rod, miss," he said presently when he had put it together. "I've baited the hook." Cicely regarded in with disfavor; people always reminded her of things, as though she had a bad memory. However, she acquiesced and held the rod, as Martin suggested, by the thick end. "And here's the basket. miss," continued Martin, "and here's the tin of worms."

"Worms!" exclaimed Cicely shrinking away. "Are they alive?" His reply afforded her no satisfaction. "Does the lid fit quite tightly?" she demanded. "Then put it inside the basket, and put the basket over there"; she pointed to a spot some yards away.

"But," objected Martin, "you may want another bait, if the fish takes this one."

Cicely allowed her line, which had been dangling in the air, to fall hurriedly into the water. "I'm sure the worms would be happier in the tin than on a hook, wouldn't they?" she asked. Martin confessed that it was probable. "I'll leave them there then, please," she ordained.

"But if you want anothertested.

he pro

"One will be quite enough, thank you," she said decisively.

Then he

Martin obeyed, and put the basket down in the spot selected. gave her some directions as to watching the float (to which he called her attention) for signs of a bite, and again promising to bring the boat back for her before tea-time he left her.

For some ilttle time Cicely angled on, dutifully holding the rod straight out in front of her and watching the fat red float as it circled round and round in the eddy. Presently, however, she began to feel uncomfortable; the rod seemed heavy and clumsy, and she could not hold it in the orthodox attitude of attention and lean back against her cushions at one and the same time; it seemed rather aimless to wait and hold it and do nothing. However, a projecting twig offered a convenient prop, and the butt could be rested on the ground.

Then she ate another chocolate, and looked thoughtfully at the three novels. Why had she brought three, she wondered; she could not read them all at once, and it was too hot to make up one's mind which one should begin with. No, she would not read just yet. A big blue dragon-fly flew past her with a vicious hum of wings, and she felt some slight alarm. Did dragonflies sting, or bite, or anything? But the insect went off down stream, and she ate another chocolate to celebrate his departure.

Then, yielding to the influences of the summer afternoon, she leaned back against the cushions reposefully, with her eyes fixed on the blue heat-haze far beyond the river.

CHAPTER VI.

"Strike," said an imperious masculine voice.

Cicely looked up dreamily. Her attention had been roused by the unaccountable behavior of her red float which for the past few seconds had been bobbing about curiously, had then

hastened along the surface of the water (against the stream as she wisely noted), and had finally disappeared into the depths. She was far too comfortable to disturb herself about the matter, which indeed she would not have noticed at all had not something come and buzzed near her, in a manner that suggested the dreaded dragon-fly, and compelled a measure of wakefulness as a precaution. She had just been lazily reflecting that Martin would be sorry to lose his nice red float, and that she was sorry because he would be sorry, but after all she could not help it if it chose to behave like that. Then her train of thought was interrupted as we have narrated.

"Strike whom?" she enquired politely of the invisible some one.

The answer was effective, if hardly anticipated. The rod was snatched up suddenly and bent to the rush of a heavy fish.

Cicely sat up; the situation promised to be interesting. There was a decision about the methods of this some one that made her wide awake at once. As for some seconds he was entirely engrossed in playing the fish she was able to have a good look at him, and profited by the opportunity. She dismissed his attire briefly as inelegant but not inappropriate. She noted that he was tall, young, with strong features and firm mouth, that his hair was dark and straight, that he had not shaved that morning (a circumstance that occurred to the some one later), and that he was generally of masterful appearance.

But despite this drawback her verdict was favorable, and Talbot (for Talbot it was, very much moved by that instinct of the angler which cannot endure to see a good rise or bite missed), was fortunate, though he knew it not, in the manner of his introduction. To exist gracefully, it may be repeated, is given to but few even of the

favored sex. The mere man who can succeed in commanding instant admiration by simply seating himself in an armchair and diffusing an atmosphere of excellence is a being of distinguished rarity, and seldom beloved by his 11vals. Most of us, to display ourselves to the best advantage, must needs be doing something. And here Talbot was generally unlucky. At cricket, while Charles could play forward and get bowled with captivating grace, Talbot, who was the kind of cricketer known as a useful scorer, spoiled his chances hopelessly by the exaggerated vehemence of his sweeping hits to leg. At football Majendie, as half-back, could evade his adversaries in a way that held spectators breathless; for him the reporter culled the choicest flowers of an exotic vocabulary, but passed unnoticed the mighty strivings of Talbot in the scrimmage. At lawn-tennis the Admiral served into the net with a careless ease that charmed the feminine eye, while Talbot pounded away at the lady with a visage of paralyzing ferocity and generally moved his partner to complain that he poached. billiards, but why prolong the tale: William may have been less fortunate, he was an expert skater-a bad accomplishment as his chances were limited, but at least he was inoffensive at other sports. Talbot always did best in an unforgivable manner.

At

At fishing, however, he found himself. His eyes grew keen, his lips set; his whole being quickened to alert, purposeful action. Cicely became quite interested, if a little puzzled, at his manœuvres with the rod, recognizing them as mysteries beyond her comprehension. Finally the fish, which proved to be a large perch, was landed triumphantly in Talbot's net.

"Always strike as soon as the float has gone well under," he said, as he lifted the fish out of the water. "It would have been a sin to lose a perch

like this. You don't get them in this river every day over two pounds. What on earth you were about I" he stopped suddenly. So far he had not had time to realize his companion, but now he suddenly found to his confusion that he was addressing a very pretty stranger in a way that only a certain amount of intimacy could excuse. "I mean I should say " he` amended hurriedly, "I must congratulate you on your luck," so saying he laid the perch down beside her, raised his hat and made as if to depart. Doubtless this must be one of the anathematized intruders. Well, he would go away at once, though he confessed to himself that she seemed less of a nuisance than he had imagined.

But Cicely stopped him. "Thank you so much for catching it," she said edging away from the still lively fish. "But what am I to do with it? It flops about so."

Talbot could hardly do less than assist beauty in such distress. He took the fish and tapped it smartly on the head with the handle of his landingnet. "It won't flop long," he assured her. "Shall I put it in your basket?" "Yes, please do," said Cicely gratefully. "Oh, and do be careful," she added tragically; "there is a tin there with live worms in it."

Talbot suppressed a smile, but showed no alarm at this startling intelligence. He laid the fish in the basket on a layer of long grass, and again meditated retreat. But in stooping down he had stolen a second glance at Cicely. He wavered; after all there was no harm in being polite, and he had some amends to make in that respect. "Shall I bait the hook again?" he suggested.

"Oh, has it swallowed the worm?" she said. "How horrid! I'm sure I shan't be able to eat it. No, don't," she said as he took out the tin; "they'll escape and crawl about."

"You seem rather afraid of the wild worm," he said smiling openly now, his hand on the lid.

"I don't want it baited," insisted Cicely.

"Don't you want to catch any more fish then?" he enquired in surprise.

"Won't one be enough?" she asked hopefully. "How many fish ought one to catch in an afternoon?"

"It depends on the weather, the river, the angler, and the fish," he returned oracularly. "For myself 1 haven't caught anything yet since lunch."

"Won't your friends laugh at you?" she asked.

"They will be most sympathetic," he answered.

"I'm sure you'll like that, so I won't give you my fish," she said; "mine wouldn't, you see. If I'd come back without anything they'd have said I'd gone to sleep, or something. Oh, what did you say it was you'd caught for me, -a trout?"

Now it might reasonably have been supposed that such ignorance would have roused Talbot's indignation, or at best his contempt; to confess one's inability to distinguish a trout from a perch should surely be a grave offence in the estimation of an angler. But to give offence it is necessary to be offensive, and those to whom it is given to exist gracefully seldom possess a gift vouchsafed to so many of their fellow-creatures. It is to be feared that Talbot felt neither indignation nor contempt; if he did his generosity so overcame them that he merely corrected her without comment.

"A perch," repeated Cicely after him; "I must try to remember that. You are quite sure?" she asked, mischievously enjoying his embarrassment.

This seemed a challenge to display knowledge, and there are few desires so overmastering as the impulse to impart information. Encyclopædias and penny weekly papers flourish by supply

ing people with odd facts to impart. Talbot could not resist the universal impulse, and in a moment he found himself discoursing on the perch in a manner that Izaak himself might have admitted to be "excellent good."

Cicely listened and smiled. She never wanted to impart information, but she could be inflicted with it at all times. She had been told how many five-pound-notes reach from Mount Everest to the edge of Saturn's rings, and the knowledge had not troubled her. Cookery recipes had been taught her by friends who read ladies' papers, and no one's digestion had ever suffered, or even been threatened, in consequence. Mrs. Lauriston had read to her the statistics of crime in alcoholic and non-alcoholic districts, and she had poured out her uncle's glass of port without a tremor. Agatha asserted that she never listened. Certainly with her the imparted fact found its long home, and if, as her sister said, it went in at one ear to come out at the other, she surely deserved more esteem than other auditors with whom the ear serves but as a road to the mouth. Besides, it was a very pretty ear.

This time, however, Cicely was making an exception. She did listen, she questioned, she appeared to be trying to remember. She followed the perch from its earliest youth to its last home in the fishing-basket, and then she asked for its Latin name.

"I beg your pardon," stammered Talbot in sudden confusion.

"The Latin name, I said," Cicely calmly repeated. "Do please remember it."

It is difficult to be suddenly dignified on a river-bank at the moment when one becomes aware that one is unshaven. Talbot thought she was making game of him and attempted the impossible. He delivered himself of the ponderous appellation; "Perca fluviati lis," he said stiffly.