"What matter?" said I. "What does anything matter except—"
"What?" she questioned softly.
"You, Diana—you and only you—"
"Don't be silly!" said she, but in the same gentle voice and though she stooped her head a little lower, I thought the colour was deepened in her cheek.
"Should you think me silly, Diana, if I told you—"
"Yes, I should!" she answered so suddenly that I started and the wet potato shot from my grasp.
"I fancy it'll rain to-night, Jessamy," said the Tinker, glancing up at the heavens.
"Brother, I'm pretty sure of it," answered Jessamy, "I noticed the clouds bankin' up to wind'ard. We'd best rig up t' other tent—"
"Why, Peregrine," exclaimed the Tinker, as I stooped to recover the elusive vegetable, "who's been sp'iling of your noo coat, your collar's all ripped, lad?"
"A black scoundrel who insulted Diana," I exclaimed, clenching my fists.