“I was—I was behind a tree,” he said. “I thought I saw you going towards the river—I imagined you were alone—”
“I was at first,” she said. “Jack came on later. So you must have been watching quite a long time! What a bore for you! Why did you do it?”
The Philosopher blinked his eyes and frowned.
“Why did I do it? Because—because”—he hesitated—“yes!—because I like to study the deceptive attributes of your sex and the pitfalls they prepare for unwary men! This Jack of yours is a perfect ass!”
“Why didn’t you say Jackass at once and have done with it?” she demanded, mirthfully. “You would have been nearly funny then!”
The Philosopher looked at her with what he meant to be a withering expression. She, however, did not wither.
“Nearly funny!” he echoed. “Silly child, do you really think I have not sufficient acumen to perceive an obvious play upon words, suggesting stupidity rather than humour?”
A smile dimpled her cheeks in one or two becoming places, but she said nothing.
“Am I to infer that you approved of the man’s attitude in the field?” he demanded.
The portentous air with which he put this question made her laugh outright.