"What! go alone with a stranger?" cried Miss Sommerton, freezingly.

"No, the Indians will be there, you know."

"Oh, I didn't expect to paddle the canoe myself."

"I don't know about that. You strike me as a girl who would paddle her
own canoe pretty well."

"Now, Edward," said his wife. "He wants to take some photographs of the
falls, and----"

"Photographs? Why, Ed., I thought you said he was an artist."

"Isn't a photographer an artist?"

"You know he isn't."

"Well, my dear, you know they put on their signs, 'artist--photographer,
pictures taken in cloudy weather.' But he's an amateur photographer; an
amateur is not so bad as a professional, is he, Miss Sommerton?"

"I think he's worse, if there is any choice. A professional at least
takes good pictures, such as they are."

"He is an elderly gentleman, and I am sure----"

"Oh, is he?" cried Miss Sommerton; "then the matter is settled. He shall
go. I thought it was some young fop of an amateur photographer."