His quick glance appraised the distant group, their summer tourist automobile drawn up on the bank of Isla Water near the Bridge, the hampers on the grass. "Trespassers," he said with a shrug. "But it's a pretty spot by Isla Bridge and we never drive them away." She looked at them again as they crossed the very old bridge of stone. Down by the water's edge stood their machine. Beside it on the grass were picnicking three people--a very good-looking girl, a very common-looking stout young man in flashy outing clothes, and a thin man of forty, well-dressed and of better appearance. The short, stout, flashy young man was eating sandwiches with one hand while with the other he held a fishing-rod out over the water. McKay noticed this bit of impudence with a shrug. "That won't do," he murmured; and pausing at the parapet of the bridge he said pleasantly: "I'm sorry to disturb you, but fishing isn't permitted in Isla Water." At that the flashy young man jumped up with unexpected nimbleness--a powerful frame on two very vulgar but powerful legs. "Say, sport," he called out, "if this is your fish-pond we're ready to pay what's right. What's the damage for a dozen fish?" "Americans--awful ones," whispered Miss Erith. McKay rested his folded arms on the parapet and regarded the advance of the flashy man up the grassy slope below. "I don't rent fishing privileges," he said amiably. "That's all right. Name your price. No millionaire guy I ever heard of ever had enough money," returned the flashy man jocosely. McKay, amused, shook his head. "Sorry," he said, "but I couldn't permit you to fish." "Aw, come on, old scout! We heard you was American same as us. That's my sister down there and her feller. My name's Jim Macniff--some Scotch somewhere. That there feller is Harry Skelton. Horses is our business--Spitalfields Mews--here's my card--" pulling it out--"I'll come up on the bridge--" "Never mind. What are you in Scotland for anyway?" inquired McKay. "The Angus Dhu stables at Inverness--auction next Wednesday. Horses is our line, so we made it a holiday--" "A holiday in the Banff country?" "Sure, I ain't never seen it before. Is that your house?" McKay nodded and turned away, weary of the man and his vulgarity. "Very well, picnic and fish if you like," he said; and fell into step beside Miss Erith. They entered the house through the door in the garden. Later, when Miss Erith came back from her toilet, but still wearing her outing skirt, McKay turned from the long window where he had been standing and watching the picnickers across Isla Bridge. The flashy man had a banjo now and was strumming it and leering at the girl.