Then he grew aware, also dimly, that the Honourable John Ruffin was standing over him and asking loudly, with every appearance of just indignation, what he meant by not looking where he was going.

The baron was strongly of the opinion that the interposed shoulder had been no accident; but he was much too busy with his breathing to say so.
Then when his breath came more easily and he had the power to say so, he had no longer the inclination, for the knowledge of the terrible position in which he stood, or rather lay, had flashed on him: he, a German officer, had been knocked down by a civilian and was forever disgraced.
Pollyooly continued to smack the bellowing prince; the Honourable John Ruffin continued to ask the baron what the devil he meant by it; and the poor wits of the panting nobleman continued to work on his dreadful problem.

Then a flash of inspiration showed him the saving solution: he could accept his noisy questioner's view that his fall had been an accident.

He sat up and began to apologise faintly and sulkily for having been knocked down.
The hands of Pollyooly were sore from smacking Prince Adalbert, but not so sore as his royal cheeks; and still she smacked on.

She interjected between the smacks requests for an assurance that he would cease to annoy the children on the beach.