“I expect,” said Priscilla, “that the salt water will be jolly good for your ankle, in reality, though Aunt Juliet will say it wont. She’s bound to say that, of course, on account of her principles. All the same it may. Peter Walsh was telling me the other day that it’s perfectly splendid for rheumatism. I shouldn’t wonder a bit if sprained ankles and rheumatism are much the same sort of thing, only with different names. But of course we can’t go this afternoon. Aunt Juliet will demand to have first shy at you. If she fails we may manage to sneak off to-morrow morning. But perhaps you don’t care for boats, Cousin Frank.” “I like boats very much.” He spoke in a slightly patronising tone, as an elderly gentleman might confess to a fondness for chocolates in order to please a small nephew. He felt it necessary to make it quite clear to Priscilla that he had not come to Rosnacree to be her playmate and companion. He had come to fish salmon in company with her father and such other grown men as might from time to time present themselves. Nursery games in stumpy green boats were not consonant with his dignity. He did not want to hurt Priscilla’s feelings, but he was anxious that she should understand his position. She seemed unimpressed. “That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll row you. You can sit in the stern and let your legs dangle over in the water. I’ve often done that when Peter Walsh has been rowing. It’s quite a jolly thing to do.” It was a thing which Frank Mannix was quite determined not to do. The suggestion that he should behave in such a way struck him as “cheeky” in a very high degree. A lower schoolboy in Edmondstone House, if he had ventured to speak in such a way, would have been beaten with a fives bat. But Priscilla was a girl and, as Frank understood, girls are not beaten. He answered her with kindly condescension. “Perhaps we’ll be able to manage it some day,” he said, “before I leave.” They arrived at Rosnacree House and Frank was helped up the steps by the butler and the coachman. Sir Lucius expressed the greatest regret when he heard of his nephew’s accident. “It’s too bad,” he said, “too bad, and the river in such fine condition after a fortnight’s rain. I was looking forward to seeing you get into your first salmon. But cheer up, Frank, I daresay it won’t turn out to be very tedious. We’ll have you hobbling along in a week or a fortnight. We’ve a good while before us yet. I’ll get up O’Hara this afternoon, our local practitioner. Not a bad fellow at all, though he drinks a bit. Still he’ll know what to do with a sprained ankle. Oh! by the way perhaps----”