Miss Demorest giggled audibly; she had lost all interest in her
food; she was tingling with excitement.

"Why didn't you fence them in?" she asked.

Pope eyed her for a fleeting instant, then his gaze wavered.

"I fenced in the whole pond to begin with. It nearly broke me."

"A duck shouldn't have much water. What kind were they?"

"Plymouth Rocks, or Holsteins, or Jersey Lilies--anyhow they were
white."

"White Pekins!"

The critic frowned argumentatively. "What is a duck for if he
isn't to swim? What is his object? We had six on my father's farm,
and they swam all the time. Of course, six isn't many, but--"

"Naturally they didn't do well--"

"But they DID do well--and quite naturally, too. They did
beautifully, in fact. They never had an ache or a pain. What do
you know about ducks?"

Adoree answered in a tone of calm and utter certainty: "I know
everything. I've read hundreds, maybe thousands of duck books. I
have a whole library of them."