"Another robin!" she cried tragically. "This is getting serious. Dinner," she informed him, "and not sport, is my object." He looked out to where a channel made a deep blue stain through the paler cerulean of the sea. The tide, he saw from the piling, was low. "There should be a rockfish in the pass," he pronounced. "What good if there is?" she returned. "I couldn't possibly throw out there. And if I could, why disturb a rock with this?" She shook the short awkward rod, the knotted line. He privately acknowledged the palpable truth of her objections, and rose. "I've some fishing things on the ketch," he said, moving away. He blew shrilly on a whistle from the beach, and Halvard dropped over the _Gar's_ side into the tender. Woolfolk was soon back on the wharf, stripping the canvas cover from the long cane tip of a fishing rod brilliantly wound with green and vermilion, and fitting it into a dark, silver-capped butt. He locked a capacious reel into place, and, drawing a thin line through agate guides, attached a glistening steel leader and chained hook. Then, adding a freely swinging lead, he picked up the small mullet that lay by his companion. "Does that have to go?" she demanded. "It's such a slim chance, and it is my only mullet." He ruthlessly sliced a piece from the silvery side; and, rising and switching his reel's gear, he cast. The lead swung far out across the water and fell on the farther side of the channel. "But that's dazzling!" she exclaimed; "as though you had shot it out of a gun." He tightened the line, and sat with the rod resting in a leather socket fastened to his belt. "Now," she stated, "we will watch at the vain sacrifice of an only mullet." The day was superb, the sky sparkled like a great blue sun; schools of young mangrove snappers swept through the pellucid water. The woman said: "Where did you come from and where are you going?" "Cape Cod," he replied; "and I am going to the Guianas." "Isn't that South America?" she queried. "I've traveled far--on maps. Guiana," she repeated the name softly. For a moment the faint dread in her voice changed to longing. "I think I know all the beautiful names of places on the earth," she continued: "Tarragona and Seriphos and Cambodia." "Some of them you have seen?" "None," she answered simply. "I was born here, in the house you know, and I have never been fifty miles away." This, he told himself, was incredible. The mystery that surrounded her deepened, stirring more strongly his impersonal curiosity.