Derek had come closer; he put his hand down and gripped her arm. Her eloquence dried up before the intentness of his face, and she just stared up at him.
“Now, look here, Wilmet; you promise me not to scoot without letting us know. We'll get you a place to go to. Promise.”
A little sheepishly the rogue-girl answered:
“I promise; only, I'm goin'.”
Suddenly she dimpled and broke into her broad smile.
“Mr. Derek, d'you know what they say—they say you're in love. You was seen in th' orchard. Ah! 'tis all right for you and her! But if any one kiss and hug ME, I got to go!”
Derek drew back among the graves, as if he had been struck with a whip.
She looked up at him with coaxing sweetness.
“Don't you mind me, Mr. Derek, and don't you stay here neither. If they saw you here with me, they'd say: 'Aw—look! Endangerin' another young man—poor young man!' Good mornin', Mr. Derek!”
The rogue eyes followed him gravely, then once more began examining the grass, and the toe of her boot again began kicking a little hole. But Derek did not look back.