"Ah, cut it out!" he said, exasperated. "Never mind my face! What did you want to say?"
"I can't say it when I think you mad," murmured Bela.
"I'm not," said Sam. "I want to be your friend," he added. "You can't always regulate your face."
There was another silence. Bela studied his averted face with a curious wistfulness. He was very difficult to handle.
"You want to see my cache?" she asked abruptly, at last. "Where I stay?"
Sam's heart leaped up. Old Prudence shook his staff in vain. "Yes, if you like," he said breathlessly, scowling harder than ever.
She scrambled to her feet. "Stay here," she said. "I come back soon."
She disappeared around the willows without vouchsafing any further explanation. Sam lay as she left him, scowling at the water, very much confused as to his internal sensations.
As it happened before, no sooner was the intoxication of her presence removed than he began to berate himself for his weakness.
"Weak as water!" he mentally scolded himself. "Just because she's pretty, you forget every blame thing! There's a whole lot of funny business about her that needs explaining. But you swallow it whole. What business have you got fooling with any girl, anyhow? You've got other problems to solve. For God's sake, take a brace!"