"Why, child," said the Earl, while I assisted the grave and decorous Atkinson to unpack the various dainties and comestibles, "why, child, how beautiful your hair is!" and lifting a silky tress in gentle, reverent fingers, our Ancient Person kissed it with stately gallantry. CHAPTER XXXVI TELLS HOW I MET ANTHONY AGAIN "What with banns and certif'cates and this and that and t'other, they don't make it very easy for people to get married, do they, Peregrine?" "No!" I answered. We were jolting Tonbridge-wards in the Tinker's cart; the afternoon was very hot, and Diogenes, hearing the murmur of our voices, subsided to a leisured amble like the knowing, four-footed philosopher he was. "Seven pounds seems a lot to pay for just one gown--even if it is to marry you in, doesn't it, Peregrine?" "In three weeks!" I added. "And four days!" she nodded. "Twenty-five days--it's an age, Diana! Much may happen in such a time--" "It will, Peregrine!" "Pray what?" "Lots of things, banns and certif-icates and--my new dress as will cost so much--" "Seven pounds is ridiculously cheap, you dear child! And talking of banns, it may seem strange, Diana, that I have never troubled to enquire your surname, nor should I bother you now but that the parson must know--" "Well, it's not so very strange that I've never bothered to tell you my name, Peregrine, because I don't know it. Old Azor often told me I had no name, but the Folk I lived with, theirs was Lovel--that'll do, won't it?" "Of course! Goddesses don't need surnames." "Will you still think me a goddess when we're married, Peregrine?" "No, as something infinitely dearer and more precious." "What?" "My wife! It--it sounds strange on my lips, doesn't it?" "I love the way you say it!" sighed Diana, and with such a look in her eyes that I clasped her to me and she, all unresisting, gave up her lips to mine. So, for a space, we forgot all but ourselves and I grew blind to all but her beauty, deaf to all but her voice. "O Peregrine!" she sighed. "O Peregrine, I never thought love could be so--wonderful!" "In three weeks you will be mine utterly, Diana--in three weeks!" "I am now, Peregrine. I could never love--never, never marry any one but you. I never meant to marry because I never thought I could love any man--but now--O Peregrine!" "Dear," said I, "if--if anything should happen to separate us, could you--would you always love me?" "Always, Peregrine, always and for ever. Hark, there is some one coming." Faint and far rose the sound of hoofs and, glancing up, I espied the distant forms of two equestrians and also observed that the perspicacious Diogenes, quick to heed and take advantage of our lapse, had halted to crop and nibble busily in the shade of a great tree that stretched one mighty branch protectingly above us. "People are coming, Peregrine." "I know, but they are still very far off; besides we are in the shade--kiss me again, Diana."