ith its suggestion of developing lines, but
most men ceased to look at her when Joyce swam within the orbit of their
vision.

Joyce Seldon was frankly a beauty in every line and feature. Her
exquisite coloring, the soft amber hair so extravagant in quantity, the
long lashes which shaded deep lovely eyes, satisfied the senses no less
than the supple rounded young body which was carried with such light
grace. Kilmeny was not very impressionable, but in her presence the
world seemed somehow shot through with a new radiance. She laid upon
him the spell of women.

Presently Dobyans Verinder dropped in with an empty creel and opened
wide supercilious eyes at sight of Jack. He was followed presently by
Captain Kilmeny and his sister, the latter a pretty Irish girl, quick of
tongue, quicker of eye, and ready for anything from flirting to fishing.

From the talk, Jack gathered that Lord Farquhar and Miss Dwight had bet
their catch would outweigh that of the other three, Farquhar and she to
fish opposite the Lodge and the others half a mile below. The minority
party had won easily, thanks to the big trout and Verinder's obstinacy
in sticking to the flies he had used in England with success. There is a
type of Englishman that goes through life using the flies he was brought
up on and trying to make them fit all places and times. Any divergence
is a form of treason. Neither Farquhar nor Kilmeny happened to be of
that kind. They besieged the American with questions and soon had a
pretty fair idea of fishing on the Gunnison.

"I should think you would ask me. I thought I was the one that catches
the big fish," suggested Miss Dwight, who had just returned from having
changed into more conventional attire.

"Make a habit of it, my dear, and we will," Lord Farquhar assured her.

"Once is enough, Moya. I can't afford a pair of gloves every evening,"
India Kilmeny protested.

"By Jove, leave some of the big ones for us, Miss Dwight," implored the
captain. He was a spare wiry man, with the long clean build one expects
to see in soldiers. Long residence in India had darkened his skin to an
almost coffee brown, except for a wintry apple red where the high cheek
bones seemed about to push through.

Supper, to which Lady Farquhar had insisted that the American stay, was
being served informally in the living-room. Verinder helped himself to a
sandwich, ogling Moya the while with his eyeglass.

"I say, you know, I believe in you, Miss