Sam interrupted her.
"You don't want to go fishing," he said.
Rosalind's cheeks assumed a pink tint.
"Not for muskies, anyhow," added Sam.
In his eyes was a hint of amusement that angered her.
"It is my intention to go fishing," she declared coldly. "It is not my intention to have my word questioned."
He shrugged indifferently.
"Oh, very well, Miss Chalmers! How many in the party? Space is limited, you know."
"Myself—Mr. Morton—perhaps half a dozen others."
"Miss Dawson?" he asked.