She smiled too and they disappeared into the wood, down the stony paths and across the bit of moorland. He stopped at the gate of the works and held out his hand.
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He held her hand, looking into her eyes. "You'll come again to-morrow?"
"Yes," she answered, steadily looking at him with her wonderful eyes.
Still retaining his grip of her hand, he pulled her gently towards him.
She came, somewhat reluctantly; the colour overspread her face. There was doubt in her eyes. He passed his disengaged arm round her neck and kissed her on her full red lips.
A wild wonder sprang to her eyes. "Gipsies don't kiss," she said, as she gazed at him.
"Don't they?" he said, "then I'll do it again in case you forget," and he did, a long kiss. He looked at her in astonished admiration, the deep colour that mantled on her cheek, and the vivid light in her eyes made a picture the like of which he had never seen.
She turned away and bounded off across the moorland to her people's camp. He watched her with bright eyes, she turned and waved a hand to him then disappeared among the caravans. He went into the little works very thoughtful for he knew that he was violently in love with this beautiful girl—this child of nature, and he seemed up against a blank wall.