Here, finding my companion silent, I glanced up to behold her watching a man who was approaching astride of a shaggy, bare-backed pony, a dark-complexioned, impudent-looking fellow with bright eyes and a wide mouth. At sight of us, he checked his steed with a jerk of the halter, smote his boot with the stout ash stick he carried, and burst into a shout of laughter. Here again I became extremely conscious of Diana's pretty, naked feet; but the fellow never even so much as glanced towards them.
"Aha, Anna!" he cried. "Whose mother's j'y ha' ye got theer?" and he pointed at me. At this she turned and spoke angrily in that unknown speech she had used with old Azor and in which he answered her. Thus they talked awhile, Diana scowling and fierce, he grinning and impudent.
"Hey, my buck!" he cried suddenly, tossing the ash stick to me. "You can tak' it; aye, tak' it—'t will be more use to you nor me—her'll need it more nor my pony, aye, that 'er will. Don't stand none o' her tricks, pal, though her'll take a lot o' taming, an' you ain't no match for 'er by your looks, but lay into 'er wi' yon stick an' do your best—" Having said which, he laughed again and, turning his pony, trotted off. Outraged by his insolence, I caught up the stick with some notion of running after him, but Diana checked me.
"Not him!" she said. "He ain't—isn't like Gabbing Dick; he's a fighting man and dangerous."
"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?"