Margot had often pitied the wives and sisters of enthusiastic fishermen
who had perforce to sit mum-chance in the background, but to-day she was
conscious of no dissatisfaction with her own position. She possessed
her full share of the girl's gift of building castles, and it would not
be safe to say how high the airy structure had risen before suddenly the
rod bent, and the Editor's intent face lit up with elation. The fish
was hooked; it now remained to "play" with him, in professional
parlance, till he could be landed with credit to himself and his captor.
For the next half-hour Margot was keenly, vividly interested in studying
the tactics of the game. The reel screamed out, as the captive made a
gallant dash for liberty; the Editor splashed after him, running hastily
by the side of the river, now reeling in his line, now allowing it full
play; and at the distance of a few yards she ran with him, now holding
her breath with suspense, now clasping her hands in triumph, until at
last, his struggles over, the captive floated heavily upon the stream.
It was the end for which she had longed throughout thirty of the most
exciting moments that she had ever known; but now that victory was
secured, woman--like she began to feel remorse.
"Oh, is it dead? Have you killed it? But it's horrid, you know--quite
horrible! A big strong man like you, and that poor little fish--"
"Not little at all! It's a good six-pounder," protested the fisherman,
quick to defend his sport against depreciation. "No--he's not dead yet,
but he soon will be. I will just--"
"Wait! Wait! Let me get out of the way." Margot flew with her fingers
in her ears, then pulled them out to cry--"Is it done? Is it over? Can
I come back?"
"Yes; it is all right. I've put him in my bag. You will appreciate him
better in his table guise. I'll take him back as a peace-offering to
Mrs McNab, for her own evening meal. We have already had our share at
the pic--"
Suddenly his hands fell to his sides, he straightened himself, and
turned his eyes upon her, filled with puzzle and dismay.
"The pic--"
"--Nic!" concluded Margot faintly. Rosy red were her cheeks; a weight
as of lead pressed on her eyelids, dragging them down, down, beneath his
gaze. "I--I--forgot! We were to have gone to find them! Do you
suppose they are--hiding still?"
He laughed at that, though in somewhat discomfited fashion.