"Ah, but you shall!"

"Oh, but I won't! Who are you to question me so?"

"Tell me, or by G.o.d I'll make you!"

"Ah, don't talk, you couldn't--no, not if--" I seized her, wrenched and swung her down across my knees (careless alike in my sudden frenzy of fallen reins, of danger or death itself) and having her thus helpless, set my hand about her soft, round throat.

"By G.o.d!" I gasped, "but you shall tell me, Diana; you shall tell me if he dared sully you with his vile touch--speak--speak!"

And now as I glared down at her I saw her eyes grow wide and suddenly fearful.

"Oh, Peregrine," she whispered. "Don't--don't look at me so--as if you hated me--don't, ah, don't!" And then, oh, wonder of wonders! Her arms were about my neck, drawing me lower and lower until her soft cheek met mine and, clasping me thus, she spoke under her breath:

"He didn't. Peregrine--he didn't! No man shall ever kiss me in line except--just--one!"

"Who?" I questioned, grasping her to me. "Who is that one?"

"Loose me, now," she pleaded. "You'll make me cry in a minute, and I hates to cry." So I obeyed her and sitting up, saw that Diogenes, like the four-footed philosopher he was, had come to a halt and was serenely cropping the gra.s.s by the roadside. And so we presently drove on again, but though Diana frowned no more, she persistently avoided my glance.

"Diana," said I at last, vainly endeavouring to meet her gaze, "who is the--one man?"

"Him as I shall marry, of course--if I ever do!" she answered.

"Then that man is myself, of course!"

"You are a sight too c.o.c.ksure!"

"Am I?"

"Yes, and--very rough, I think."

"Oh, forgive me--did I hurt you--just now, when I--"

"You did!"

"Where?"

"Here, on the throat, Peregrine."

"Let me look," said I, peering. Then, "The wound is not apparent, Diana, unless it is--here!" and leaning closer, I touched her soft neck with my lips. "Did I hurt you anywhere else?"

"No!" said she hastily and with sudden shy look.

"I could almost regret my gentleness!" I sighed. After this we drove in silence awhile; that is to say Diogenes ambled along at his own leisurely gait, as if he very well knew that 'time was made for slaves'.

So I looked at Diana, drinking in this new, shy beauty of her, and she looked at earth and sky, at hedgerow and rolling meadow but with never a glance at me.

"It was wrong of you to think the gentleman kissed me!" said she suddenly, beginning to frown.

"It was!" I admitted. "Very wrong indeed!"

"Then why did you?"

"Because I was a fool!"

"Well, I don't like fools!"

"Then I will endeavour to be wiser."

"'T will need a lot o' trying, I think," said she, scowling.

"Good heavens!" said I. "Are _you_ angry now?"

"Yes, I can be angry as well as you, I s'pose?"

"Of course!" said I. "You have contrived to be very ill-tempered lately."

"Oh, have I?"

"You have! And very slipshod in your speech--indeed, your diction is worse than ever--"

"Oh, stow your gab!"

"Now you are coa.r.s.e and vulgar in the extreme!"

"Well, that's better than pretending to be what I ain't. And if you don't like my talk--hold your tongue and I'll hold mine!"

"I will!" said I.

"Do!" she snapped. And so was silence again, wherein the birds seemed to sing quite out of tune and Diogenes a lazy quadruped very much needing the whip.

"Cannot you drive a little faster?" I suggested.

For answer she lashed Diogenes to a gallop so that the cart lurched and swayed in highly unpleasant fashion; but presently, this speed abating somewhat, I ventured to loose my grip of the seat and thrusting hands into pockets, felt the case containing the locket and chain.

"Are you any better tempered yet?" I enquired.

"No--nor like to be--"

"That's a pity!"

"Oh--why?"

"Because you look prettier when you don't frown--"

"Oh tush!"

"Though you're handsome always. And besides I--I brought you a small present--"