He introduced the little black-bearded man who was with him; a doctor,
staying down near the church.

The girl lifted her veil the least little bit, to her nose, and started
talking to Asop in a whisper. I noticed her jacket; I could see from
the lining and the buttonholes that it had been dyed. Mack introduced me
to her as well; his daughter, Edwarda.

Edwarda gave me one glance through her veil, and went on whispering to
the dog, and reading on its collar:

"So you're called Asop, are you? Doctor, who was Asop? All I can
remember is that he wrote fables. Wasn't he a Phrygian? I can't
remember."

A child, a schoolgirl. I looked at her--she was tall, but with no figure
to speak of, about fifteen or sixteen, with long, dark hands and no
gloves. Like as not she had looked up Asop in the dictionary that
afternoon, to have it ready.

Mack asked me what sport I was having. What did I shoot mostly? I could
have one of his boats at any time if I wanted--only let him know. The
Doctor said nothing at all. When they went off again, I noticed that the
Doctor limped a little, and walked with a stick.

I walked home as empty in mind as before, humming all indifferently.
That meeting in the boathouse had made no difference either way to me;
the one thing I remembered best of all was Mack's wet shirt front, with
a diamond clasp--the diamond all wet, too, and no great brilliance about
it, either.