"Who is he?" I demanded.

"A Romany."

"And what did the fellow say to you?"

"Nothing to harm."

"Did he suggest--the--the same as the Peddler and that hateful old hag?"

"Lord--and what if he did?"

"Why, then," I answered, "for your sake there is but one of two courses that I can honourably adopt. I must either leave you at once or marry you at the--the first opportunity."

"Marry me!" she breathed. "Marry--me?"

"Exactly!" said I, folding my arms and staring down into the stream in a very determined fashion. At this, she sat so very still and silent that at last I ventured to glance up, to find her regarding me great-eyed. Then, all at once, to my indignant surprise, she began to laugh, but ceased as suddenly, and I wondered to see her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

"But I--don't love you, and you don't love me--and never can!" said she at last.

"No!" I answered. "Nevertheless, my honour demands it!"

"What is honour?" she questioned wistfully.

"It is another name for duty!" I answered. "And my duty is to guard you from all evil or suspicion of evil."

"What evil, Peregrine?"

"The evil of vile tongues."

"But they can't make us evil, whatever they say of us."

"But what of your maidenly reputation?" I demanded. "That hateful peddler-fellow and vile old hag will make your name a byword--O, decidedly I must marry you!"

"Because of your duty?"

"And because it will resolve all my other difficulties with regard to your education; for instance, I will send you to the best and most select young ladies' academy--"

"What sort of a thing is that, Peregrine?"

"A place where ladies are educated in all the higher branches and taught deportment and all the refinements and usages of polite society."

"O!" exclaimed Diana, and sent up a sparkling shower of water with a flirt of her white foot.

"Furthermore," I continued, wiping my cheek--for some of this water had splashed me, "furthermore, Diana, you need never fear the future any longer, because as my--my wife, you would of course lack for nothing."

"Meaning as you'd find me plenty to eat and drink, Peregrine?"

"Heavens, yes, child!" I exclaimed. "You would be a lady of some position in society."

"A lady--O!" she exclaimed, and flirted her foot again.

"I beg you won't do that!" said I, wiping my face.

"But I like to, Peregrine."

"Why, pray?"

"Because you are such--oh, such a Peregrine!"

"That sounds ridiculous, Diana!"

"But means a lot, Peregrine. But tell me, if you can make your wife a real lady, you must be a gentleman and rich--are you?"

"I shall have a sufficiently comfortable fortune when I come of age."

"You will be rich and grand--like your aunt?"

"I suppose so."

"Without working for it?"

"Of course; I shall inherit it from my father."

"Any one could get rich that way, couldn't they? And when will you get your money, Peregrine?"

"In two years' time. Meanwhile, by writing to my uncles, I can procure all the money I need."

"Why don't you?"

"I propose doing so at the very earliest opportunity." At this she turned and looked at me with her direct, unswerving gaze, so that I grew suddenly uncomfortable. "You don't doubt my word, do you, Diana?"

I questioned, glancing down at my grotesque attire.

"No, Peregrine, I don't think you could deceive any one. Only I was wondering what brings the like o' you padding the roads dressed like--like you are."

Hereupon, sitting down beside her, I told my story at large, much as I have written it here, to all of which she listened with such deep interest and grave attention as gratified me not a little. When at last I had ended my narrative, she sat, chin in hand, staring down at the rippling waters so long that I must needs ask what she was thinking.

"That 't is no wonder you are so soft!" said she.

"Soft?" I repeated indignantly.

"Yes, soft, Peregrine, and so green--so precious green! You've never had a chance."

"Of what?"

"Of living. And your Aunt Julia's a fool!"

"Diana--!" I exclaimed, inexpressibly shocked.