"No, I did not know;" an indefinable shadow over-clouded his face, but he
said quickly, --

"That is an old hunting-ground of mine. The river teems with speckled
treasures. Are you a disciple of old Walton, Mr. Arnold?" he added,
turning with courtesy to the silent Frenchman.

"You mean fishing? No; life is too short to hang my humor of a whole day
on the end of a line. I have never been at Beacham's."

"It is a fine spot. You will probably go down there this year."

"My business keeps me tied to the city just at present. A professional man
has no such bond; his will is his master."

"Hardly, or I should have slipped cables long ago. A restful night is an
unknown indulgence sometimes for weeks."

His gaze moved from Arnold's peachy cheek, and falling upon Ruth, surprised
her dark eyes resting upon him in anxious questioning. He smiled.

"We shall have to be moving on," she said, holding out a gloved hand.

"Will you be gone long?" he asked, pressing it cordially.

"About a month."

"You will be missed--by the Flynns. Good-by." He raised his hat as he
looked at her.