IV
It was Mr. Unstead’s dun cow that did it, on this wise; chancing to meet the small Duchess in the lane, this gentle ruminant had thrust forth moist, inquiring muzzle and puffed in gusty fragrance, whereupon the Duchess uttered a scream, a ladylike outcry small in volume as herself, but a cry that was answered none the less very suddenly and to her own gasping astonishment, for as she stood, crouched against the mossy wall, staring fearfully at the dun cow’s perilous horns, she felt herself caught up, lifted gently and set upon the broad coping of the wall, whence she looked down to see the Ogre (in his second-best coat) gently urge the inquisitive quadruped through an adjacent gate; which done, and the gate secured, he returned and, uncovering bewigged head, favoured the Duchess with a profound obeisance.
“Madam,” he began in his very choicest English, “I sincerely trust that”—here, suddenly espying her Grace’s small and very pretty feet, Sir Hector blinked and resolutely averted his eyes—“that ye’re no’ fashed or byordinar’ afeart by reason o’ yon coo, mam. She’s an unco’ gentle creature an’ wadna harm a babe, mam——”
“But I’m not a babe, sir!” she retorted, crossing her little feet demurely and making the most of the pretty things—“far from it, sir! And I detest cows ... especially in lanes! ... cows are so horribly horny!”
“Why, as to that, mam,” answered Sir Hector a little vaguely, his glance upon her feet again, “cow’s horns are a dispensation o’ Providence.... Nature gave a cow horns——”
“To fright fearsome females, sir! And here sitteth one perilously perched and full o’ fears lest she fall! Take her down, sir—instantly,” said the Duchess.
Sir Hector glanced up and down the lane, looked at the little Duchess and blenched.
“D’ye hear me, sir?” she demanded.
“Ou aye, Mrs. Saunders,” he answered. “Hae patience, mam.... Bide a wee....” And he turned away; but scarce had he achieved two paces than she summoned him back imperiously.
“How, sir,” cried she, “will ye leave me—desert me in this dreadful situation? Heaven help me, ’twould seem I am fated to sit helplessly aloft——”
“A ladder, mem.... I’ve a ladder in my garden.”
“Tush for your ladder, sir! To leave me here—so heartless and hateful!”
“Heartless, mam! No, no! By means o’ my ladder, y’ ken——”
“Ha’ done wi’ your ladder, sir!”
“But, losh, mam, hoo wull ye come doon wi’oot my ladder?”
“How did I get here, pray?”
“Leddy, ’twas a’ by the inspiration o’ the moment.”
“Then pray be ‘inspired’ again, sir.”
Sir Hector flushed, glanced at her little, helpless feet, her roguish eyes, fumbled with his hat and dropped it; the little Duchess giggled. Then Sir Hector took a deep breath and reached out his arms.