This curious behavior of English peaches so roused her curiosity that, in spite of the heat, she rose and walked quietly to the end of the wall of pear-tree. As she came beyond it, she saw, leaning over the wall, a fair-haired boy. Even as she saw him something rose and vanished over the wall far too swiftly for her to see that it was a landing-net.
Surprise did not rob the Terror of his politeness; he smiled amicably, raised his cap and said in his most agreeable tone: “How do you do?”
He did not know how much the princess had seen, and he was not going to make admission of guilt by a hasty and perhaps needless flight, provoke pursuit and risk his peaches.
“How do you do?” said the princess a little haughtily, hesitating. “What are you doing up there?”
“I’m looking at the garden,” said the Terror truthfully, but not quite accurately; for he was looking much more at the princess.
She gazed at him; her brow knitted in a little perplexed frown. She thought that he had been taking the peaches; but she was not sure; and his serene guileless face and limpid blue eyes gave the suspicion the lie. She thought that he looked a nice boy.
He gazed at her with growing interest and approval—as much approval as one could give to a girl. The Princess Elizabeth had beautiful gray eyes; and though her pale cheeks were a little hollow, and the line from the cheek-bone to the corner of the chin was so straight that it made her face almost triangular, it was a pretty face. She looked fragile; and he felt sorry for her.
“This garden’s very hot,” he said. “It’s like holding one’s face over an oven.”
“Oh, it is,” said the princess, with impatient weariness.
“Yet there’s quite a decent little breeze blowing over the top of the walls,” said the Terror.