Big Game - A Story for Girls

There was a short, somewhat embarrassed silence while Margot kept her

eyes fixed on the scene of the late meal, the two smouldering fires, the

piled-up hampers and baskets, and the Editor drummed with his fingers,

and chewed his moustache.

"Er--" he began haltingly at last. "How do you think it has gone?"

"You mean the--"

"Picnic! Yes. My first entertainment. I feel responsible. Think they

enjoyed it at all?"

"I'm sure of it. Immensely! They thawed wonderfully. Think of the

duet! To hear Mr Macalister singing was a revelation. It has been a

delightful change from the ordinary routine. And the trout! The trout

was a huge success. How amiable of it to let itself be caught so

conveniently!"

The Editor smiled, with the conscious pride of the experienced

fisherman.

"There was not much `let' about it. He led me a pretty dance before he

gave up the struggle, but I was on my mettle, and bound to win. Do you

know anything about fishing, Miss Vane?"

"I?" Margot laughed happily. "Just as much as I have gleaned from

watching little boys fish for minnows in Regent's Park! I don't think I

have ever particularly wanted to know more. It seems so dull to stand

waiting for hours for what may never come, not daring to speak, in case

you may scare it away! What do you think about all the time?"

He turned and looked at her at that, his lips twitching with amusement.

Seated on the ground as they were, the two faces were very near

together, and each regarded the other with the feeling of advancing a

step further in the history of their acquaintance.

"He really is young!" decided Margot, with a sigh of relief. "It's

only the frown and the stoop and the eyeglasses which make him look as

if he were old."

George Elgood looked into the pink and white face, and his thoughts

turned instinctively to a bush of briar roses which he had seen and

admired earlier in the day. So fresh, and fair, and innocent! Were all

young girls so fragrant and flower-like as this? Then he thought of the

little prickles which had stung his hand as he had picked a bud from the

same bush for his buttonhole, and smiled with latent mischief. After

all, the remembrance did not lessen the likeness. Miss Margot looked as

if she might--under provocation--display a prickle or two of her own!

"What do I think about?" he repeated slowly. "That is rather a

difficult question to answer; but this good little river, I am thankful

to say, does not leave one much time for thought. There's a little

channel just beyond the bridge that is a favourite place for sea trout.

Would you like to see it?"