"And I am eighteen and years older than you! But if you don't like 'young man' what must I call ye?"
"Whatever you please," said I stiffly.
"I called ye 'fool' just now, but that won't do, seeing there's s' many about, so I think you shall be 'Tom'—"
"My name is Peregrine!" said I in sudden wrath. For a moment she viewed me with her direct, half-sullen gaze, then drooping dark lashes, laughed with a flash of strong white teeth.
"Hoity-toity! Don't be angry, Joe!" she mocked; and then: "Peregrine," said she, as if trying the sound of it. "'Peregrine' sounds very fine but then it don't agree wi' your looks—yes, I thinks Tom will suit ye better—or Sam, p'raps."
To this I deigned no answer but trudged on in moody silence, endeavouring to formulate some method of escape from this outrageous creature and so absorbed that I paid not the least heed to her foolish chatter until suddenly and most unpleasantly roused by the touch of her fingers on my ear which she tweaked none too gently. This extraordinary familiarity bred in me such indignant disgust that I sprang from her touch to stand dumb and trembling with fury.
"What," cried she, wilfully mistaking these tremors, "did I fright him then! Lord, how he do tremble! Oh, young man, you be a poor sort, I think!"
"Poor indeed!" cried I passionately. "Poorer even than you judge me, for I haven't a penny in the world! But here is my watch—all I have left—take it—take it, for God's sake, and let me go!" Saying which I drew forth my gold repeater and would have forced it into her hand, but now she sprang back in her turn and, bowing her head, fronted me with both arms rigidly out-thrust.
"Lord God!" she muttered. "D'ye think 'tis your money I want—your dirty money!"
"What matter my thoughts?" I cried. "Here is my watch; pray take it and let us say good-bye!"