altogether. She made a desperate grab after her self-control, and by dint
of biting her lower lip very hard just saved herself from this calamity.

It was a very pleasing face that looked into her own, olive-hued, with
brows as delicate as a woman's. A thin line of black moustache outlined a
mouth that was something over-sensitive. He was certainly quite a
captivating fairy prince.

Chris shook the thick hair back upon her shoulders and surveyed him with
interest. "It's getting better," she said. "It was a horrid cut, wasn't
it? You don't know how it hurt."

"But I can imagine it," he declared. "I saw immediately that it was
serious. Mademoiselle cannot attempt to walk."

"Oh, but I must indeed!" protested Chris in dismay. "I shall be drowned
if I stay here."

He shook his head. "Ah no, no! You shall not stay here. If you will
accept my assistance, all will be well."

"But you can't--carry me!" gasped Chris.

He rose to his feet, still smiling. "And why not, little one? Because you
think that I have not the strength?"

Chris looked up at him speculatively. She felt no shyness; he was not the
sort of person with whom she could feel shy. He was too kindly, too
protecting, too altogether charming, for that. But he was of slender
build, and she could not help entertaining a very decided doubt as to his