gave up the fight, and Rupert landed it on the bank, just opposite to where Mrs. Shaw lay. But the girl was hurt—unjustifiably so, perhaps. She had wished to say something to him, and he had stopped her. He had actually stopped her, when she was about to say something which he ought to have been keen to hear. He had stopped her, in order to secure a fish!
Her cheek burned as her feet trod the soft green sward, in the twilight of the trees. Surely this man could not really love her? Every true lover hung upon his mistress's words. Was it ever told of one yet that he preferred landing a fish to listening when his betrothed was about to unburthen her heart—to speak openly to him of all her perplexities? But she would do so to-morrow. Yes, she was resolved that she would speak very openly to him to-morrow. Perhaps they had both been mistaken. If so, it was far better that the engagement should be at an end.
At this point in her reflections she turned, and retraced her steps over the velvet moss. The trees hid her until she was close upon them—her aunt wide awake now, and looking up laughing, he standing over her, a smile of perplexity on his handsome face as he stroked his fair moustache.
"What shall I do? Shall I go after her?" were the words she heard.
"Of course, mon cher," replied Mrs. Shaw. "Go at once. She requires as much play as that fish; and if you don't look out, you won't land her as cleverly."
No assiduity on his part during the remainder of that
