"Oh, I know all that, but—folks are beginning to—talk."
Hermione's smooth brows were wrinkled faintly and her caressing hand had fallen away.
"To talk!" she repeated, "you mean about—me?"
"Yes!" nodded Spike, avoiding her eyes, "about you and—him!"
"Well—let them!" she answered gently, "you and Ann are all I care about, so let them talk."
"But I—I don't like folks t' talk about my sister, an' it's got t' stop. You got t' tell him so, or else I will. What's he got t' go buying ye flowers for, anyway?"
Hermione's black brows knit in a sudden frown. "Arthur, don't be silly!"
"Oh, I know you think I'm only a kid—but I ain't—I'm not. If you can't take care of—of yourself, I must and—"
"Arthur—stop!"
"Well, but what's he always crawlin' around here for?"