“Now will you take the rod?” said Lavender to Sheila.

But before she could answer the fish had come rushing up to the surface, and had thrown itself out of the water, so that it fell on the opposite bank.  It was a splendid animal, and Duncan, despite his doubts, called out to Ingram to slacken his hold.  There was another spring into the air, the fish fell with a splash into the water, and the line was flying helplessly in the air, with the two flies floating about.

“Ay,” said Duncan, with a sigh, “it wass foul-hooked.  It wass no chance of catching him whatever.”

Lavender was more successful next time, however, with a pretty little grilse of about half a dozen pounds, that seemed to have in him the spirit and fight of a dozen salmon.  How he rushed and struggled, how he plunged and sulked, how he burrowed along the banks, and then ran out to the middle of the pool, and then threw himself into the air, with the line apparently but not really doubling up under him!  All these things can only be understood by the fisherman who has played in a Highland stream a wild and powerful little grilse fresh in from the salt water.  And it was Sheila who held him captive, who humored him when he sulked, and gently guided him away from dangerous places, and kept him well in hand when he tried to cross the current, until at last, all the fierceness gone out of him, he let himself be tenderly inveigled into the side of the pool, where Duncan, by a dexterous movement, surrounded him with network and placed his shining body among the bright green grass.

But Ingram was not so overjoyed this time.  He complimented Sheila in a friendly way, but he was rather grave, and obviously did not care for this business of fishing.  And so Sheila, fancying that he was rather dull because he was not joining in the sport, proposed that he should walk back to the house with her, leaving Mr. Lavender with Duncan.  And Ingram was quite ready to do so.

But Lavender protested that he cared very little for salmon-fishing.  He suggested that they should all go back together.  The sun was killing the wind, and soon the pools would be as clear as glass.  Had they not better try in the afternoon, when perhaps the breeze would freshen?  And so they walked back to the house.

On the garden-seat a book lay open.  It was Mr. Mill’s Essay on Liberty, and it had evidently been left there by Mr. Mackenzie, perhaps—­who knows?—­to hint to his friends from the South that he was familiar with the problems of the age.  Lavender winked to Ingram, but somehow his companion seemed in no humor for a joke.

They had luncheon then, and after luncheon Ingram touched Lavender on the shoulder and said, “I want to have a word with you privately.  Let’s walk down to the shore.”

And so they did; and when they had got some little distance from the house, Ingram said, “Look here, Lavender.  I mean to be frank with you.  I don’t think it fair that you should try to drag Sheila Mackenzie into a flirtation.  I knew you would fall in love with her.  For a week or two, that does not matter—­it harms no one.  But I never thought of the chance of her being led into such a thing, for what is a mere passing amusement to you would be a very serious thing to her.”