"We must go back."
"Lord," said Philip lazily, "that's nothing at all. I'm a
hydro-aviator."
She glanced wistfully up into his face.
"You're right about Carl," she said. "I'm very sorry."
Philip felt suddenly that it behooved him to remember a certain
resolution.
Later, as he hurried through the rainy wood to his own camp, where the
Baron sat huddled in the Indian wagon in a state of deep disgust about
the rain, he halted where the trees were thick and lighted his pipe.
"There's the Baron's aeroplane at St. Augustine," he said. "We can go
there in the morning. And the old chief will know. His memory's good
for half a century." Philip flung away his match. "But I can't for
the life of me see which is the lesser of the two evils. If her mother
wasn't married, it was bad enough, of course. But with Theodomir a
crown prince--it's worse if she was!"
And a little later with a sigh--
"A princess! God bless my soul, with my spread-eagle tastes I
shouldn't know in the least what to do with her!"
Huddled in the Indian wagon, the Baron and his secretary talked until
daybreak.
CHAPTER XLVII
"THE MARSHES OF GLYNN"
For the rides over the sun-hot plains, the poling of cypress canoes,
the days of hunting and the tanning of hides, there was now a third of
fearless strength and endurance.
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