"That is the situation," he admitted, freeing his line and trying to catch the crinkled silvery snell of the new leader. It persistently avoided him; he lowered the rod toward Miss Erroll; she gingerly imprisoned the feathered fly between pink-tipped thumb and forefinger and looked questioningly at him.
"Am I to sit here holding this?" she inquired.
"Only a moment; I'll have to soak that leader. Is the water visible under that log you're sitting on?"
She nodded.
So he made his way through the brush toward her, mounted the log, and, seating himself beside her, legs dangling, thrust the rod tip and leader straight down into the stream below.
Glancing around at her he caught her eyes, bright with mischief.
"You're capable of anything to-day," he said. "Were you considering the advisability of starting me overboard?" And he nodded toward the water beneath their feet.
"But you say that you won't let me throw you overboard, Captain Selwyn!"
"I mean it, too," he returned.
"And I'm not to marry that nice young man?"—mockingly sweet. "No? What!—not anybody at all—ever and ever?"