"Come back!" she commanded, but I went only the faster and being very earnest to rid myself of her, was even meditating ignominious flight, when I heard the leap of her feet in pursuit, felt her grip upon my arm and was checked thus so violently that I was amazed at the strength of her. "Don't come your fine airs over me, young man," she panted in hot anger, her full, red lips tight-drawn, her great eyes dark and passionate. "Don't do it!" she repeated. "Don't ye dare!" "Most decidedly not!" I answered, retreating before her threatening mien; and thus, not caring to turn my back on this young virago, I fronted her fierce scrutiny with what resolution I could, while devoutly wishing myself anywhere else in the world. And it was now that I realised she was taller than myself by fully an inch--indeed, perhaps a little more. "Why does ye stare so?" she demanded. I craved her forgiveness and lifted my offending gaze to the leaves above her head and maintained a dignified silence; whereupon she questioned me breathlessly, "Now what are ye thinking?" "That the ancient person spoke truly." "You means as I'm a shrew?" "Pray remember it was not I said so." "But you means so! Come, does ye or don't ye?" "Madam," I began, very conscious of the evil glitter of her knife, "if you will permit me to--" "Don't 'madame' me, young man! I don't like it and I won't be madamed by you or any other--so don't dare--" "Certainly not!" said I, fixing my gaze on the leaves again. "And may I suggest that we might converse more easily if you would have the kindness to put away your knife?" "My little _churi_, d'ye mean? Not I, young man, not I! 'T is my best friend as saves from evil more than once! And how do I know as you won't come any games?" "Games?" I repeated, shaking my head in mystification. "The sports of youth never interested me--indeed, I never play games--" "No," cried she, with sudden, shrill laugh, "I don't think you do!" Here (to my startled amazement) she whipped short petticoats above her knee and thrust the knife into her garter. Now though my gaze was immediately abased to earth I none the less had a memory of an exceedingly well-turned and shapely limb. "And so you thinks I'm a shrew, does ye?" she demanded, head aslant, and hands on shapely hips. "I think you might perhaps be just a little more gentle." "Tush, young man, gentleness don't serve a maid among the Folk!" "What folk?" "The Romans." "Romans?" said I, puzzled. "Aye, Romans. The Romany, gipsies, the poor folk." "Are you a gipsy, then?"