"Diana," said I, watching her as she flitted lightly to and fro, engaged on what she called "tidying up." "Diana, what are we going to do?"
"I thought we were going to Tonbridge?"
"I am."
"Well then, the sooner we starts the better."
"But," I demurred, rubbing my chin and staring hard at the toe of my clumsy shoe, "don't you think it a little unwise—very extraordinary and—yes, extremely irregular for—for two people of opposite sexes to consort thus? Are not folk apt to misjudge our intimacy?"
"What folk?"
"Well, I mean the world."
"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?"