He had discarded his uniform, in favour of white linen.

She regretted his preference somewhat, but admitted to herself that linen might be cooler.
He was very busy with a swagger-cane, drawing in the sand, far too intent to note her approach, and as he drew he hummed a madrigal in his soft voice.
Noiselessly Chris drew near, a dancing imp of mischief in her eyes.

She wanted to get a glimpse of the work of art that he was elaborating with such care before he discovered her.

But his sensibilities were too subtle for her.

Quite suddenly he became aware of her and whizzed round.
He made her a low bow, but Chris waived the ceremony of greeting with impatient curiosity.