“If only there might!” gasped the girl.
“Why, what do you mean?”
She burst into a hysterical laugh. “Oh! oh! it’s such a joke–such a joke! At least he’s not a hyena–oh, no; a brave beast! Hear him shout! And he actually thinks it’s a lion! But it isn’t–it’s himself! Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall I do?”
“Miss Genevieve, what do you mean? Be calm, pray, be calm!”
“Calm!–when I heard what he said? Yes; I heard every word! In the top of the tree–”
“In the tree? Heavens! Miss–er–Miss Genevieve!” stammered Winthrope, his face paling. “Did you–did you hear all?”
“Everything–everything he said! What shall I do? I am so frightened! What shall I do?”
“Everything he said?” echoed Winthrope.
“You spoke too low for me to hear; but I’m sure you faced him like a gentleman–I must believe it of you–”
Winthrope drew in a deep breath. “Ah, yes; I did, Miss Genevieve–I assure you. The beast! Yet you see the plight I am in. It is a nasty muddle–indeed it is! But what can I do? He is strong as a gorilla. Really, there is only one way–no doubt you heard him taunt me over it. I assure you I should not be afraid–but it would be so horrid–so cold-blooded. As a gentleman, you know–”