"They don’t have no clergymen in France," said Gibson, with British scorn; "only priests. And priests don’t have no wives. But look here. What do you want to be took away for? What’s up?" Susan was silent. "It’s some tiff with the Missis," said Gibson derisively; "that’s what it is. And I ain’t going to be a party to it. Bet my feet the Missis is in the right. Fact is, this toff"--Gibson paused, and repeated the word with disdain--"this toff has given you swelled head. Not me! I ain’t going to take sides against the Missis just for the sake of him. The old girl’s always been too good to me." The undress grammar and off-duty vocabulary of my two model domestics opened my eyes wide and made my ears burn. As for Ruddington, he touched my hand again, and I saw that his face was full of pain. He had guessed that I was showing him Susan. "We mustn’t stay," he said. "We must," I answered, stamping my foot on the grass. For Susan was speaking. "No, Tom, no," she moaned; "not the Missis! It isn’t a tiff with the Missis. Oh, it breaks my heart to think of it! To-night, just before I ran away, she was sitting looking at the fire. She looked that sad and lonely, I burst out crying; and if I hadn’t run straight out of the house, I wouldn’t have come at all. No, no, no! Not the Missis." "What the dooce is it, then?" asked Gibson. "It’s ... it’s him!" blurted Susan, desperately. "Him? Not ... not the toff?" "Yes," groaned Susan, "the toff! He’s coming. He wants to meet me, here." "Here? To-night?" "No. To-morrow. Eleven o’clock. Oh, Tom, I can’t bear it! Take me away!" Gibson emitted a long, low whistle. He took off his cap, crushed it up, and put it on again. Then he ducked for Susan’s bag and dropped it down a few yards away, as if he wanted room. Last of all, he bent his head till he could look straight into Susan’s eyes. "Susie," he said slowly, "you don’t say you’re going to give him up?" He had dropped his vile pronunciation, and had strangely regained the simple dignity with which he had spoken to me at Traxelby. "Not that you’re going to give him up?" he repeated. "Yes, yes, yes!" said Susan. "I don’t want him! I won’t have him! I can’t bear him! Take me away!" "And if I do," he asked intently, "can you bear me, Susie? Will you have _me_?" "Oh, Tom, of course I will!" she wailed, clinging to him with all her might. And, suddenly raising herself on tiptoe, she gave him a resounding rustic kiss. Behind our bush we recoiled a little, both from them and from one another. "We will go," said Ruddington. "We won’t," I said, pinching his arm to keep him quiet. So we looked away while Gibson returned the kiss, not once, or twice, or thrice. "Susie," demanded Gibson at last, "what is his name? Who is he?" "His name," proclaimed Susan, after an effective delay, "is Lord Ruddington." Gibson let her fall from his embrace like a stone. He sprang back a man’s length.