“Oh, no, they are not.”
I almost dropped the rod.
“Not—with—” I repeated.
“Not altogether. They are with you, just at present. If you had sold—if you had given in to Father, feeling as you do, I should not have any sympathy with you at all. As it is—”
“As it is?” I asked eagerly—too eagerly. I should have done better to pretend indifference.
“As it is,” she answered, lightly, “I respect you as I would any sincere fighter for a losing cause. And I shall probably feel some sympathy for you after the cause is lost. Excuse my breaking in on your sermon, provided it is not finished, but—I think you have a bite, Mr. Paine.”
I had, very much of a bite. The minnow on my hook had been forgotten and allowed to sink to the bottom, and a big pout had swallowed it, along with the hook and a section of line. I dragged the creature out of the water and performed a surgical operation, resulting in the recovery of my tackle.
“There!” I exclaimed, in disgust. “I think I have had enough fishing for one day. Suppose we call it off. Unless you would like to try, Miss Colton.”
I made the offer by way of a joke. She accepted it instantly.
“May I?” she cried, eagerly. “I have been dying to ever since I came.