He bowed.
“I accept the rebuke. My coming was due to a misapprehension, for which I am not responsible. But the mistake is soon remedied.”
Her eyes seemed to wonder more and more. And then the faintest flush stole to her cheek.
“Do you not like my orange grove, monsieur?” she said.
“It is beautiful,” he answered. “I seem doomed unwittingly to desecrate your Highness’s chosen retreats.”
She looked down a moment; a minutest smile rose to her lips:
“I have no claim to it really,” she said; “only I love its sweetness and solitude. Bissy is its inspiring genius—as you seem to have discovered.”
He saw the sparkle in the eyes she raised, and stood spellbound by it.
“I had wronged the boy—hurt him,” he said very seriously; “and my song was in the nature of an atonement.”
“A strange one, surely, for a boy’s hurt.” She was grave all at once. “What had he done to offend you?”