Eh? What?"
"I think I will go round by the side-door, father. I might meet some one
in the hall."
"Nay, don't do that. There isn't any need to shab off. You've done
nothing wrong, and I'm ready to stand by you, my dear; and you know what
a good time we've been having all day. Eh? What?"
"Of course I know, father,--
"Showers and clouds and winds,
All things well and proper;
Trailer, red and white,
Dark and wily dropper.
Midges true to fling
Made of plover hackle,
With a gaudy wing,
And a cobweb tackle."
"Cobweb tackle, eh, Charlotte? Yes, certainly; for a hand that can
manage it. Lancie Crossthwaite will land you a trout, three pounds
weight, with a line that wouldn't lift a dead weight of one pound from
the floor to the table. I'll uphold he will. Eh? What?"
"I'll do it myself, some day; see if I don't, father."
"I've no doubt of it, Charlotte; not a bit." Then being in the
entrance-hall, they parted with a smile of confidence, and Charlotte
hastened up-stairs to prepare herself for the evening meal. She gave one
quick glance at her grandmother's picture as she passed it, a glance of
mingled deprecation and annoyance; for there were times when the
complacent serenity of the perfect face, and the perfect propriety of
the white satin gown, gave her a little spasm of indignation.
She dressed rapidly, with a certain deft grace that was part of her
character.
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