"Of what?"
"Of living. And your Aunt Julia's a fool!"
"Diana—!" I exclaimed, inexpressibly shocked.
"Such a fool, Peregrine, that I'm greatly minded to let you marry me just to see my lady's face when I take ye back and say, 'Ma'm, here's your precious Peregrine married to a girl o' the roads, ma'm, and a-going to be a man in spite o' you, ma'm!' Oh, tush! And now let's go on—unless you'm minded to sleep in the wood yonder and no supper."
"As you will!" said I stiffly.
And so, when she had donned her stockings and shoes, we continued our way together, though in silence now.
CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH I LEARNED THAT I AM LESS OF A COWARD THAN I HAD SUPPOSED
There is, I think, a wistful sadness in the fall of evening, a vague regret for the fading glories of the day which, passing out of our lives for ever, leaves us so much the richer or poorer, the nobler or more unworthy, according to the use we have made of the opportunities it has offered us for the doing of good or evil.
Thus I walked pensive through the solemn evening stillness, watching the shadows gathering and the sky slowly deepen to a glimmering dusk, wherein the first faint stars peeped.