"I suppose she takes me for a tourist, or a cheap tripper," thought
Stafford, with an uncomfortable kind of amusement; uncomfortable,
because he knew that this girl who was acting as shepherd in an old
weather-stained habit and a battered hat, was a lady.

She broke the silence again.

"Have you caught many fish?" she asked.

Up to now they had been separated by the stream; Stafford seized the
opportunity, waded across in a fairly shallow place, and, opening the
lid of his basket, showed her the contents.

"Yes, you have done fairly well," she said; "but the trout run larger
higher up the valley. By the way," her brows came together slightly,
though the very faintest of smiles for an instant curved the delicately
cut lips, "do you know that you are poaching?"

This would have been a staggerer coming from a mere keeper, but from
this exquisitely beautiful, this calm statue of a girl, it was simply
devastating. Stafford stared at her.

"Doesn't this river belong to Sir Joseph Avory?" he asked.

"No," she replied, uncompromisingly. "Sir Joseph Avory's river is
called the Lesset water, and runs on the other side of that hill."

She raised her hunting-crop and pointed with an exquisite movement, as
graceful as that of a Diana, to the hill behind her.