"My lady, an' if you please, ma'm," said she, curtseying, finger beneath dimpled chin, "I ain't your young woman an' by your leave, ma'm, never could be, because, though I don't love Mr. Peregrine, I can't abide you, ma'm. When I wants money, being only a gipsy mort, I works for it or prigs it. So I don't want your money, thanking you kindly, ma'm, and I don't want your nephew, so you may take him and willing. An' I don't want your friendship or help, because I likes loneliness and the Silent Places better. So take your precious nephew, ma'm, and when you get him safe home, wash him an' keep him in a glass case; 'tis what he's best fitted for. But watch him, lady, lock him up secure, because I think--I know--I could whistle him away from you whenever I would--back, ma'm, back to me and the Silent Places. And so good-day, ma'm, my best respects!" Saying which, Diana curtseyed again and turned away. "The creature!" exclaimed my aunt. "The minx! The insolent baggage!" And she stepped proudly forward, an angry goddess, the jewelled switch quivering. "Stop, lady!" said Diana, throwing out a shapely arm with gesture so imperious that my aunt stood staring and amazed. "Stop, ma'm--don't forget as you're a great lady and I'm only a gipsy mort as could tear you in pieces for all your size! To spoil them fine eyes would be pity, to pull that long hair out would be shame, so don't use your whip, lady--don't!" Having said which, she turned and walked serenely away. "A most dreadful young person!" exclaimed my aunt. "See from what calamitous evils I have snatched you, dear Peregrine. Come, let us be going. I have William with your mare, but seeing you cannot ride as you are, we will take a chaise." But folding my arms, I shook my head. "What--O boy, what does this mean?" "It means, dear Aunt, that I love the Silent Places too!" "But Peregrine, you will not desert me now--now that I have found you--you will not--cannot! Ah, come back, Peregrine!" she cried, deep bosom resurgent, arms outstretched and eyes dim with unshed tears. "Dear Aunt, it is impossible!" I mumbled. "Loving you as I do, yet must I leave you a while, foregoing the tender shelter of your love for--for--" "Dirt and misery!" she broke in. "The shameful allurement of a sly minx, an unspeakable--" "Madam!" I cried, "have done! You shame yourself and me! It has been my good fortune to have fallen in with honest people with whom I shall remain awhile, enduring their lot, living their life and by their brave patience learn fortitude, and their proud humility shall in time, I hope, teach me the duties of a gentleman--"