Allston wished to add his testimony, but when he met her brown eyes he decided not to venture. But at that he honestly did think she looked very fine. Howe appeared troubled with Allston’s lack of success in the neighboring streams. He had recommended them--on hearsay evidence, to be sure--and held himself more or less responsible. “It’s odd you don’t have better luck,” he said at supper. “I’ve always understood the fishing around here was excellent--particularly for bass.” “It is,” answered Allston. “But I’ve been fishing for trout.” “Well, it seems as though you ought to get a trout occasionally.” “I’m afraid it’s been my fault,” broke in Wilmer. “I think Mr. Allston will have to try his luck alone for a while.” “I might get more fish,” admitted Allston. “But I wouldn’t have as much pleasure.” “Trout are wary,” said Howe. “As wary as smiles,” admitted Allston. “I did more or less fishing when a boy,” ran on Howe. “The streams were better stocked then.” “But the woods were not any sweeter nor the sun any brighter,” suggested Allston. “And that after all is what counts. I haven’t a complaint to make--unless it is of to-day.” “Why of to-day?” questioned Howe. “I didn’t give enough attention to my fishing.” “And lost a big one? They always bite best when your head is turned.” “My head _was_ turned,” replied Allston, looking across the table at Wilmer. She was very busy at that moment pouring tea. “You will have sugar to-night?” “All you’ll give me.” “That’s too bad,” Howe consoled him. “I hope you’ll have better luck next time.” “I shall certainly try to keep my head another time,” declared Allston. It was not easy, however, even for the remainder of that evening. He had never before minded the presence of her father, but from this point on he found himself contriving all sorts of little subterfuges for isolating her. She managed to foil them all without permitting him to know whether it was deliberate or not. To-night she consumed at least two hours in reading the New Orleans papers until he heartily wished that New Orleans could be blotted from the map. And yet, had it not been for the papers and those droning market quotations on sugar, the chances are that Howe would not have impolitely closed his dear old eyes and gone off peacefully to sleep. The girl herself did not notice until Allston rose and touched her shoulder, pointing at the dozing figure. “Let’s go out on the porch,” he whispered. “We mustn’t disturb him.” She hesitated--evidently uneasy. “You don’t want to wake him, do you? You know he hasn’t been sleeping very well lately.” Which was true enough. Reluctantly she rose and yet with a curious sort of reluctance too; a reluctance that expressed itself in a choking kind of eagerness. Out there he faced her in the light of a waning moon. “You didn’t mean what you said about letting me fish alone?” he demanded. “It--it might be best,” she answered.