"I don't know. Look at the man! That's the fourth time he's landed his line in a bush! He'll fall into that pool if he's not--mercy!--there he goes! Did you ever see such a genius for clumsiness?" She was moving forward through the trees as she spoke; Duane called after her in a warning voice: "Don't try to do anything to disturb him. It's not good sport; he's a mighty decent sort, I tell you." "I won't play any tricks on your good young man," she said with a shrug of contempt, and sauntered off toward the Gray Water. Her path, however, crossed Grandcourt's, and as she stepped upon the footbridge she glanced down, where, wading gingerly in mid-stream, Delancy floundered and panted and barely contrived to maintain a precarious footing, while sending his flies sprawling down the rapids. "Good-morning," she nodded, as he caught sight of her. He attempted to take off his cap, slipped, wallowed, and recovered his balance by miracle alone. "There's a thumping big trout under that bridge," he informed her eagerly; "he ran downstream just now, but I can't seem to raise him." "You splash too much. You'd probably raise him if you raised less of something else." "Is that it?" he inquired innocently. "I try not to, but I generally manage to raise hell with every pool before I get a chance to fish it. I'll show you just where he lies. Watch!" His cast of flies whistled wildly; there was a quick pang of pain in her shoulder and she gave a frightened cry. "Good Lord! Have I got _you_?" he exclaimed, aghast. "You certainly have," she retorted, exasperated, "and you had better come up and get this hook out! You'll need it if you want to fish any more." Dripping and horrified, he scrambled up the bank to the footbridge; she flinched, but made no sound, as he freed her from the hook; a red stain appeared on the sleeve of her waist, above the elbow. "It's fortunate that it was a b-barbless hook," he stammered, horribly embarrassed and contemplating with dismay the damage he had accomplished; "otherwise," he added, "we would have had to cut out the hook. We're rather lucky, I think. Is it very painful?" "Sufficiently," she said, disgusted. "But I suppose this sort of thing is nothing unusual for you." "I've hooked one or two people," he admitted, reddening. "I suppose you won't bother to forgive me, but I'm terribly sorry. If you'll let me put a little mud on it----" She disdained to reply. He hovered about her, clumsily solicitous, and whichever way she turned, he managed to get underfoot, until, thoroughly vexed, she stood stock-still and opened her arms with a hopeless gesture: "What _are_ you trying to do, Delancy? Do you want to embrace me? I wish you wouldn't leap about me like a great Dane puppy!" The red surged up into his face anew: "I beg your pardon," he said. "I'm very sorry."