"You hear me, Clytie?"
"Yes, I hear," returned Clytie in a bored tone.
"Do you know--" Langshaw hesitated, a boyish smile overspreading his
countenance. "I was looking at that trout-rod in Burchell's window
to-day. I don't suppose you remember my speaking of it, but I've had my
eye on it for a long time." He paused, expectant of encouraging
interest.
"Oh, have you, dear?" said Clytie absently. The room was gradually,
under her fingers, resuming its normal appearance. She turned suddenly
with a vividly animated expression.
"I must tell you that you're going to get a great surprise tonight--it
isn't a Christmas present, but it's something that you'll like even
better, I know. It's about something that George has been doing. You'll
never guess what it is!"
"Is that so?" said Langshaw absently in his turn. He had a momentary
sense of being set back in his impulse to confidences that was not,
after all, untinged with pleasure. His delightful secret was still his
own, unmarred by unresponsive criticism.
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