On my way back from the Flats I discovered Duncan sitting on the wall
of the bridge, moodily donating pebbles to the water. His attitude
suggested preoccupation with unhappy reflections, a humour from which
the sound of my footsteps roused him. He looked up and caught my eye
with an uncertain nod, as though he half recognised me--presumably
having casually noticed me at the Bigelow House the previous evening.
"Good-morning," said I cheerfully, with a slight break in my stride
intended craftily to convey the impression that I was not altogether
averse to a pause for gossip.
He said "Good-morning," sombrely.
"A pleasant day," I observed spontaneously, stopping.
"Yes," he agreed. "By the way, have you a match about you?"