A young woman faced me. Low and slight, dressed in tan from her jaunty straw hat to her russet shoes; short walking skirt tailored to perfection; a laced bodice very low in the neck; a tin fish bucket in one hand. She had evidently taken me for one of the rustics in the neighborhood, for I could see that she was as much surprised as I. A glance sufficed to tell me her story. A jaded society woman, old and _blasé_ at twenty, having nothing but a sniff for the world and all there was in it. She was pitifully young to wear those marks of experience upon her face. Her features were inclined to be peaked; her chin sharp, her blue eyes so weary, in spite of the momentary light which flashed up in them now. There were faint lines about her unstable mouth, and well defined crowsfeet at her eyes. She must have lived hard and furiously from her early teens to have acquired that indescribable expression which needs no interpreter. Whoever she was and whatever she was--and I was convinced she could boast the blood of gentle folks--she had seen some life in her score of years. "I guess if there is any pardon to ask,--I should ask it," I replied, dragging my cap off as I spoke. "I didn't know it was yours. I'm a stranger. I was out walking, and ran up on the boat, and couldn't see any harm in using it for a half-hour. Shall--that is, may I assist you to get afloat?" She had gotten rid of all tokens of surprise as I was speaking. Now, with the ready action of a woman of the world, she came forward and held out the bucket. "You may stow that away.... I'm going to visit my lines." "Lines?" I repeated, blankly. "Trot lines," she explained, adjusting a pin in her hat when I was absolutely sure such a thing was unnecessary. "I set them yesterday afternoon." "Oh! You're a fisherman!" I exclaimed. "Well, I hope you've had luck." She stepped into the boat before I could offer assistance, got down and took the oars--then stopped. She appeared to be thinking. I stood ready to shove off at her word. Suddenly she looked up with a half smile. "Would you like to go?" I was not surprised. Poor little world-worn creature. How many men had she molded with that half smile! I answered without hesitation. "Certainly!" There could be no harm to either of us. It was unconventional, but conventionality is a terrible bugbear. She was lonely, I knew, and the echo from a civilized world which I would get in her company would be most welcome to me. "Come on, then. Day before yesterday I caught a bass which almost wore me out before I could get him aboard. You see you could be of help on an occasion of that kind." I offered to take the oars, but she declined, and subsequently displayed a degree of skill in rowing that surprised me. She took the middle of the stream and went with the sluggish current. From my position in the stern I faced her, and feeling that conversation was almost imperative, I said: "Surely you don't live at Hebron?"