“Where the devil is she?” he said, in English, his voice louder than he thought.
“Here,” came the reply, also in English; “the third tree to your right—the lowest limb.”
He now saw a pair of laced boots with high tops and the edge of a brown cloth walking-skirt. “Those feet look promising,” he thought, as he watched them swinging cheerfully. He crawled farther out on the big limb. When he paused again he could see her waist; a brown silk sash with tasselled ends was wrapped several times round it. He could also see one of her hands; she had her glove off and the hand was as promising as the feet. He crawled a little farther. Pausing again, he peered out; he was looking into the charming, amused face of Her Serene Highness! She recognized him instantly. She tried to sober her features, but the spectacle of this dignified young man on all fours craning his neck at her through the leaves was too much for her gravity. She began to laugh, and, as he instinctively released one hand, took off his hat and bowed, she became almost hysterical.
He swung himself round and found a secure sitting from which he could view her. She said: “I beg your pardon; I’m so—”
“Don’t mind me,” he said, good-humoredly. “It’s most becoming to you to laugh.”
She straightened her face and elaborately brought forward a look designed to “put him in his place.”
“I prefer the laughter,” he said. “Posing isn’t a bit becoming to you—not a bit. You seem to have the habit of drawing me into disagreeable situations and then putting on airs. Who invited me down that passage-way at Paquin’s? Who dropped her handkerchief twice in my path and suspected me of flirtation? Who summoned me to come and amuse her by being chased by a wild boar?”
“But I told you to stop,” she protested, feebly.
“Rather late, wasn’t it? I’m not complaining. It’s delightful to have the chances fate has given me. But I strongly object to your blaming me for fate’s fault.”
“You are rude,” she said, hotly. “You are taking an unfair advantage of my helpless position.”