“Fie!” said she severely. “Beetle gentlemen should control their little feelings. Naughty, naughty!”
From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation.
“Naughtier, naughtier!” deprecated the visitor. “Are these the cold and measured terms of science?”
“You haven’t lived up to your bet,” complained the censured one.
“Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as per contract.”
“Making twenty-seven minutes that I’ve been sitting here waiting for a welcome.”
“I’m not Miss Brewster. I’m a voice in the wilderness.”
“Then, Voice, you haven’t been there more than one minute. A voice isn’t a voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D.”
“There is something in that argument,” she admitted. “But why didn’t you come up and look for me?”
“Please don’t be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You might at least have called.”
“That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet, wouldn’t it? I was waiting for you to speak.”
“Not good form in Caracuña. The señor should always speak first.”
“You began the other time,” he pointed out.
“So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn’t learned the customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom for hermits of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden-hearted orchids to send to casual acquaintances?”
“Is that what you are?” he queried in a slightly depressed tone.
“What on earth else could I be?” she returned, amused.
“Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales are permanent, don’t we?”
“I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can’t see you chasing fairies at all,” she asserted positively.
“Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that.”
“Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven’t thanked you for them yet.”
“Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to-day.”
“Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely purple ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much better they’d look pinned on me—if there were any one here to see and appreciate.”
If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttled out from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyed insect, secured the orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up. Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he spoke:—