She blamed herself bitterly for the panic that had driven her to an arboreal refuge. If only she had stopped and faced the beast all might have been saved! As she looked down upon him now she did not believe he would bite. But he had come upon her so suddenly, so clamorously, that self-possession fled from her in a flash.
And now, even though she lacked faith in his ferocity and remembered how insinuatingly he had nosed his muzzle into her hand back on the Witherbee place, there were other reasons. Chief of course was the sardonic boatman.
Yet she was frantically anxious to descend from her tree. To gain that she was almost willing to sacrifice everything save dignity. She was even content to sue for peace—to make terms, if need be to humiliate herself before this common creature who calmly smoked and watched her discomfiture.
"May I come down now?" she asked so sweetly that the alteration in her voice startled him.
He stared at her and whistled.
"Please!"
Rosalind's tone was liquid in its smoothness. And—she smiled! The boatman dropped his pipe.
"Do it again," he said incredulously.
"What?"
"Smile!"