"Isn't—isn't that a Sulphur Yellow?" she asked, pointing to a butterfly which wavered past them and poised itself for an instant on a pebble by the brink of the pool.
"Eh? By George! so it is." The Doctor caught up his shako and raced off in pursuit. "Steady now!… Is he gone?… Yes.… No, I have him!" he called, as with a swift wave of his arm he brought the shako down smartly on the pebbles and, kneeling, held it down with both hands.
"Where?" panted Miss Marty.
"Here… if you will stoop while I lift the brim.… Carefully, please. Now!"
Miss Marty stooped, but could not reach low enough to peer under the shako. She dropped on her knees. The Doctor was kneeling already. He showed her how to look, and this brought their cheeks close together.…
"Oh!" cried Miss Marty, suddenly.
"I couldn't help it," said the Doctor.
"And—and you have let him escape!" She buried her face in both hands, and broke into a fit of weeping.
"I don't care.… Yes, I do!" He caught her hands away from her face and, their hiding being denied her, she leant her brow against his shoulder. With that, his arm crept around her waist.
For a while he let her sob out her emotion. Then, taking her firmly by both wrists, he looked once into her eyes, led her to a seat upon the pebble ridge, and sat himself down beside her.