"Awfully nice of you. Some people would have let me go away."
"But the orchid, senor. Do you fear to climb so high?" she inquired, with the faintest gleam of amusement at his obvious effort to prolong the conversation.
"Oh no!"
He cast about for something further to talk about, but, failing to find it, began slowly to clamber upward, supporting himself upon the natural steps afforded by the twining vine and the protuberances of the trunk itself.
When he had reached the first fork, he turned and seated himself comfortably, peering downward through the leaves for a sight of her.
"Not gone yet!" he exclaimed. "That's good."
"Are you out of breath that you stop so soon?"
He nodded. "I need to rest a minute. Say, my name is Anthony—Kirk
Anthony." Then, after a pause, "I'm an American."
"So am I, at least I am almost. My mother was an American."
"You don't say!" The young man's face lighted up with interest, and he started eagerly down the tree-trunk, but she checked him promptly.