He came up
and lumbered on the surface of the pool. Gradually I drew him, plunging
ponderously, to the gravelled beach, where I meant to 'tail' him. He
yielded to the strain, he was in the shallows, the line was shortened. I
stooped to seize him. The frayed and overworn gut broke at a knot, and
with a loose roll he dropped back towards the deep. I sprang at him,
stumbled, fell on him, struggled with him, but he slipped from my arms.
In that moment I knew more than the anguish of Orpheus. Orpheus! Had I,
too, lost my Eurydice? I rushed from the stream, up the steep bank,
along to my rooms. I passed the church door. Olive, pale as her orange-
blossoms, was issuing from the porch. The clock pointed to 10.45. I was
ruined, I knew it, and I laughed. I laughed like a lost spirit. She
swept past me, and, amidst the amazement of the gentle and simple, I sped
wildly away. Ask me no more. The rest is silence."
* * * * *
Thus ends my hapless friend's narrative. I leave it to the judgment of
women and of men. Ladies, would you have acted as Olive Dunne acted?
Would pride, or pardon, or mirth have ridden sparkling in your eyes? Men,
my brethren, would ye have deserted the salmon for the lady, or the lady
for the salmon? I know what I would have done had I been fair Olive
Dunne.
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