“Thank you,” he said drearily; and Mary picked up the bamboo staff with the glistening hook at the end.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mr Lisle.”
“Granted,” was the laconic reply.
“Don’t, pray, don’t punish me for saying those words,” cried Mary. “There, finish your lesson in love and fishing. Claude,” she whispered, as the young man had to follow the fish a few yards down the stream, “you’ve caught him tightly; shall I gaff him as well?”
“Yes; you had better finish your lesson, Miss Gartram,” said Chris, walking back slowly winding in the line, and speaking in a hard, cold tone.
“No; you had better finish,” she replied hastily; and then, as she saw the cloud deepening on his brow, she stepped forward quickly, and laid her hand on the rod. “Yes, let me finish, Chris,” she said, and she gazed at him with her eyes full of faith and trust.
“Claude,” he whispered, as he gave her the rod, “you couldn’t think—”
“Hallo! What’s this?” cried a harsh voice, and all started, so suddenly had Norman Gartram—followed closely by his visitor—stepped up to where they stood.
“Mr Lisle giving Claude and me a lesson in fishing,” said Mary sharply. “Now, Claude, dear, wind in and I’ll hook him out.”
“Most interesting group,” said Parry Glyddyr, with rather a contemptuous look at the teacher of the art.