"Do you, Peregrine, do you think so--really?" Here, of course, I stopped to kiss her. "The wonder is," said she, "the great wonder is that she didn't fall in love wi' you, Peregrine." "I'm very glad she didn't! Besides, there's Anthony, so strong and tall and handsome, so altogether different to myself and much more likely to capture a woman's fancy." "Not all women, Peregrine." Here she stopped to kiss me. "Barbara is a much--gentler sort of fine lady than--your aunt, I think--" "Aunt Julia can be gentle also--sometimes, dear--" "When she gets her own way, Peregrine!" "You will learn to love her very much some day, I hope, Diana." "I hope so--but it'll take her a mighty long time learning to love me, I think," sighed Diana. "Lord, what furious fuss she'll make when she finds out we'm married. Not as I shall care--if you don't, dear. Why, Peregrine--yonder's Wyvelstoke Towers!" "Yes," said I, "it is there we are going." "But why--what for?" "Dear, have patience--just a little longer," I pleaded. At this she was silent, but her hand tightened on my arm, and I was aware of the sudden trouble in her eyes. So, having crossed the park, we came into the pleasaunce, a place of clipped yew hedges and trim walks. And here who should meet us but the sedate Atkinson, who, having saluted us gravely, led the way to a rustic arbour where sat his lordship engaged upon the perusal of a book. At sight of us, he rose to welcome us with his wistful, kindly smile. "Ah, Peregrine," said he, viewing us with his keen gaze as we sat beside him, "I perceive you have not told her." "Not a word, sir," said I, a little hoarsely. "Old pal," she questioned, glancing from me to his lordship and back again, "what d'ye mean? Peregrine, what is it?" "Diana," said I, finding my tongue very unready, "dear--what is your greatest wish--what is your most passionate desire?" "You!" she answered in her sweet, direct fashion. "And--what next?" "To be a lady! Oh, you know that and you know why--to be done wi' this fear that sometimes I may shame you by my talk or by acting wrong; you know, don't you?" "This is why I brought you here, Diana. My lord has offered to--have you taught all this and--much beside." "Oh!" she sighed rapturously. "You mean to teach me to be a lady? Oh, dear, dear old pal--can you, will you?" "Child, it would be my most joyful privilege." "But, Diana," I continued haltingly, yet speaking as lightly as I could and keeping my gaze averted, "to learn so much you must--stay with his lordship--travel abroad--meet great people--be instructed by many skilled teachers and--there will be your music--singing--" "Will they teach me everything a lady should learn, grammar an' deportment an' dancing--?" "Everything, Diana." "But, Peregrine, while I'm away learning all this, where will you be?" "I shall remain--here!" "Oh, well, that's done it! I shall stay with you, of course!"