"Yes! Rita is a good-hearted little girl," I lauded unthinkingly.
"I spoke to her once out on the Island," said Miss Grant, "but she seemed shy. She looked me over from head to heel, then ran off without a word.
"Well,—Mr. Bremner, days and evenings are much alike to some of us in Golden Crescent. Shall we say Wednesday evening?"
"I shall be more than pleased, Miss Grant," I exclaimed, betraying the boyish eagerness I felt, "if——?"
"If?" she inquired.
"If you will return the compliment by allowing me to take you out some evening in the boat to the end of Rita's Isle there, where the sea trout are,—or away out to the passage by The Ghoul where the salmon are now running. I have seen you fishing very often and with the patience of Job, yet not once have I seen you bring home a fish. Now, Rita Clark can bring in twenty or thirty trout in less than an hour, any time she has a fancy to.
"I should like to break your bad luck, for I think the trouble can only be with the tackle you use."
Mary Grant's brown eyes danced with pleasure, and in the lamplight, I noticed for the first time, how very fair her skin was,—cream and pink roses,—tanned slightly where the sun had got at it, but without a blemish, without even a freckle, and this despite the fact that she seldom took any precautions against the depredations of Old Sol.
"I shall be glad indeed. You are very kind; for what you propose will be a treat of treats, especially if we catch some fish."
She held out her hand to me. Mine touched hers and a thrill ran and sang through my fingers, through my body to my brain; the thrill of a strange sensation I had never before experienced. I gazed at her without speaking.