“Pray calm yourself,” he answered. “All I ask of you is ordinary civility or silence. I certainly have no desire to thrust myself upon you.”
Both were silent and sat watching the boar as it ranged frantically from one tree to the other, pausing at each to look up with an insane gleam in its wicked, little, blood-shot eyes. After fifteen minutes Grafton moved slowly back towards the fork of the tree. As he reached it and seemed about to descend, she said, in a humble tone that made him smile inwardly, “Where are you going, please?”
“I’m going to make a dash for a rifle I see on the ground,” he answered.
“You mustn’t—you mustn’t. I forbid it!” she exclaimed.
“Have you any suggestion to offer as to how we are to escape?”
“No,” she replied, reluctantly, “except to call out.”
“And bring somebody else to make an amusing spectacle of himself—if he doesn’t happen to get killed. I can’t congratulate you on your scheme.” And he continued his descent.
“Stop; for God’s sake, stop!” she called out. “I am ashamed of myself. I am sufficiently punished.”
“My dear young lady, I’m not punishing you; I’m trying to get myself, and incidentally you, out of this mess.”
“Please—please—come back where I can see you; I wish to say something to you.” It was certainly Erica and not Her Serene Highness who was speaking now.