"Wicked extravagance, I call it!" exclaimed Diana, glancing up from the potatoes she was peeling. "Though if he wants to waste his money, he couldn't ha' wasted it better!" "For that," said I, seating myself beside her, "I will help you with those things if you'll show me how!" At this she glanced swiftly at me without lifting her head and in her eyes was an indescribable kindliness and her vivid lips were curved to smile so tender that I stared in joyful bewilderment and forgot all else in the world until roused by the Tinker's voice: "And exactly what o'clock might it be by your chronometer, Jessamy?" "Precisely fifteen minutes an' three quarters past seven, brother." "Then, according to mine, you're precisely three quarters of a minute fast, Jessamy, my lad." "Why, as to that, friend," answered Jessamy, "it's in my mind that you're just about that much slow, comrade." And so, reaching a knife, I began to help Diana in the peeling of potatoes and, though finding it a somewhat trying business, yet contrived ever and anon to steal surreptitious glances at her downbent face and to surprise more than once that new soft and shy-sweet wonder in her glance. "You'll cut yourself if you aren't more careful!" she admonished, and the kindness it seemed had somehow got into her voice. "What matter?" said I. "What does anything matter except--" "What?" she questioned softly. "You, Diana--you and only you--" "Don't be silly!" said she, but in the same gentle voice and though she stooped her head a little lower, I thought the colour was deepened in her cheek. "Should you think me silly, Diana, if I told you--" "Yes, I should!" she answered so suddenly that I started and the wet potato shot from my grasp. "I fancy it'll rain to-night, Jessamy," said the Tinker, glancing up at the heavens. "Brother, I'm pretty sure of it," answered Jessamy, "I noticed the clouds bankin' up to wind'ard. We'd best rig up t' other tent--" "Why, Peregrine," exclaimed the Tinker, as I stooped to recover the elusive vegetable, "who's been sp'iling of your noo coat, your collar's all ripped, lad?" "A black scoundrel who insulted Diana," I exclaimed, clenching my fists. "A gentleman as spoke to me, you mean!" "The damned rogue tried to kiss you--" "Well, what of it--I didn't let him, did I?" "You have no business to run such risks," said I angrily, my gorge rising at memory of the fellow, "a tavern is no place for a girl--" "Well, I can't live under a glass case!" she retorted. "And, anyway, I can take care of myself--better than you can!" "Yes," I answered humbly, "I fear I am not a very terrible champion--Jessamy, O Jessamy, teach me how to fight!" For answer Jessamy rose and opening his canvas bag reached thence four of those padded gloves termed 'mufflers.'