Suddenly he checked himself. "You must not come any further," he began. "I must see you back."
"Tell me first what has happened," she persisted; "Why have you become a workman?"
"I cannot and must not tell you. Besides, you could never understand."
"I understand a good deal more than you grown-up people think I do. Why can't you leave off being a workman? And why don't you come and marry Margaret? She's awfully in love with you, and so are you with her—you know you are!"
"Yes Diana, I know I am," fell from his lips, and immediately he regretted the words.
"Then come back now and tell her," said Diana, tugging at him as if to make him turn.
"But look at my hands," he said, half in jest, half in earnest. "See how rough and stained they are! I shall always be a workman, and I shall always be very poor."
"Margaret doesn't care anything about that," she protested. "She's not that sort of girl. Do come back, please, Morgan. Mamma's reading downstairs. I'll steal up to Marjy and tell her you're waiting for her. If you stand under the window, I'm sure you'll hear her crying. Come along, Morgan, you can take ever such a nice walk together, and——"
"And,"—he echoed stupidly.
"Oh, I was going to say I'll be glad to get the pair of you off my hands."