“There!” he cried. “You have him. First lesson.”
“Have I caught it?”
“Yes, yes; hold up the point of your rod.”
Claude immediately held it down, and the line went singing out, till Chris darted close behind his pupil and seized the rod, just over her hands, raising the top till it bent nearly double.
“A beauty!” he cried excitedly. “You lucky girl!”
“Thank you. That’s right. Now, take the rod and pull it out.”
“No, no,” he said, with his lips close to her ear, and she trembled more and more as she felt his crisp beard tickle the back of her neck, and his strong arms tightly press hers to her sides; “you must land him now.”
Away darted the salmon wildly about the pool, but Claude could not tell whether it was the excitement caused by the electric messages sent through the line, or by the pressure of Chris Lisle’s hands as he held hers to the rod.
“Mary, come and see Mr Lisle catch this salmon,” she cried huskily; but Mary only turned over a leaf, and seemed more deaf than ever, while the fish tugged and strained.
“Mr Lisle, loose my hands now. This is absurd. What are you doing?”