"
"Making twenty-seven minutes that I've been sitting here waiting
for a welcome."
"Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster--"
"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?"
"Does one look for a sound?"
"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 Caracuna. The senor 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.
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