“Horribly.”

“Oh, the wire is too strong for him to break out,” she observed coolly.

“I was not afraid of that,” he retorted, reddening.

She turned toward him, smilingly remorseful.

“I know it!  I say such things—­I don’t know why.  You will learn how to take them, won’t you?”

They walked on, passing through grove after grove, Alonzo tiptoeing after them, and when, as a matter of precaution from time to time, Shiela looked back, the bird pretended not to see them until they passed the last gate and locked it.  Then the great crane, half flying, half running, charged at the closed gate, dancing and bounding about; and long after they were out of sight Alonzo’s discordant metallic shrieks rang out in baffled fury from among the trees.

They had come into a wide smooth roadway flanked by walks shaded by quadruple rows of palms.  Oleander and hibiscus hedges ran on either side as far as the eye could see, and long brilliant flower-beds stretched away into gorgeous perspective.

“This is stunning,” he said, staring about him.

“It is our road to the ocean, about two miles long,” she explained.  “My father designed it; do you really like it?”

“Yes, I do,” he said sincerely; “and I scarcely understand why Mr. Cardross has called me into consultation if this is the way he can do things.”

“That is generous of you.  Father will be very proud and happy when I tell him.”

They were leaning over the rail of a stone bridge together; the clear stream below wound through thickets of mangrove, bamboo, and flowering vines all a-flutter with butterflies; a school of fish stemmed the current with winnowing fins; myriads of brown and gold dragon-flies darted overhead.

“It’s fairyland—­the only proper setting for you after all,” he said.

Resting one elbow on the stone parapet, her cheek in the hollow of her hand, she watched the smile brightening in his face, but responded only faintly to it.

“Some day,” she said, “when we have blown the froth and sparkle from our scarcely tasted cup of acquaintance, you will talk to me of serious things sometimes—­will you not?”

“Why—­yes,” he said, surprised.

“I mean—­as you would to a man.  You will find me capable of understanding you.  You once said to me, in a boat, that no two normal people of opposite sex can meet without experiencing more or less wholesome interest in one another.  Didn’t you say that?  Very well, then; I now admit my normal interest in you—­untinged by sentiment.  Don’t disappoint me.”

He said whimsically:  “I’m not intellectual; I don’t know very much about anything except my profession.”

“Then talk to me about it.  Goodness!  Don’t I deserve it?  Is a girl to violate precept and instinct on an ill-considered impulse only to find the man in the case was not worth it?  And how do you know what else I violated—­merely to be kind.  I must have been mad to do it!”