"Lord, Peregrine, who's us for the world to trouble about?"

"I merely mention this because I dread lest I compromise you."

"What's compromise?"

"Well," I explained, lifting my gaze to the time-worn timbering above my head, "people seeing us together might suppose we--we were--lovers--"

"But we ain't!" she retorted, turning to look at me. "And never shall be--shall we?"

"No!" said I with my gaze still turned upward. "Of course not! But none the less people might think we were--were living together!"

"Well, so we are, ain't we?" she demanded.

"But," said I, staring at my shoe again, "suppose they imagine--"

"What, Peregrine?"

"Evil of us?"

"What matter, s' long as we knows different?"

"But I cannot bear that any should speak or even think evil of you, Diana--"

"Never mind about me--though it's kind of you!" she added in that suddenly soft, half-shy tone that I have before attempted to describe.

"Y' see," she continued, "n.o.body ever troubled themselves about me all my life, except Jerry--or them as I keeps my little knife for. And you ain't that sort, so we'll go on together until I feels like leaving you, an' then I'll go--"

"Go where, Diana?"

"Back to the lonely places--"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing!" she answered, shaking her head. "You wouldn't never understand. But I'll go along wi' you to Tonbridge."

"Very well!" said I. "And on the way, if you'll allow me, I'll teach you to speak more correctly and to behave with a--a little more--feminine restraint--"

"Oh--and why should I?" she demanded, cheeks flushed and proud head aloft.

"Because," I answered, struck anew by her beauty, "though you look like a G.o.ddess you speak and act like a--like--"

"A what? And--be careful!" she warned.

"I don't know."

"Come, speak out!"

"Indeed, I can think of no just parallel; you are like no one I ever saw or heard. But your speech and actions often do not match your looks."

"And your looks don't match your words or actions!" she retorted, "you speak s' very grand and look s' very--s' very--"

"What?" I questioned anxiously.

"I don't know. 'T isn't a scarecrow--scarecrow's clothes fits better--but you looks an' acts like n.o.body as ever I see afore."

"At the very first opportunity I will certainly purchase better garments!" quoth I, scowling down at the noxious things that covered me.

"With no money?" she scoffed.

"I have my watch!" quoth I.

"They'll think as you prigs it and hand you over to the narks an'

queer cuffins--"

"That sounds very terrible; what do you mean?"

"I means the _plastramengroes_."

"What in the world is that?" said I.

"Oh, _Kooshti duvvel_!" she exclaimed. "You don't know nothin'; you're what they calls a _rye_, ain't you?"

"Pray, what is a rye?" I enquired, a little diffidently.

"A _gorgio_ gentleman," she explained patiently.

"What should give you that impression?"

"You're s' different to the 'Folk'--or any of the padding kind."

"Yes, I suppose I am--despite my clothes!"

"Your speech is soft an' your ways are softer, but you have a high an'

mighty look about ye at times--although you're so precious green."

"Green?"

"As gra.s.s!" she nodded, "Very green--like your name."

"My name is Peregrine, as you know."

"But t' other suits ye best!"

"You grow more unkind, Diana!"

"You're a scholar too, o' course?"

"I have received a somewhat careful education."

"What d'ye know?"