Oh, I wish t' God
I'd never seen you! And I shan't much longer--"
"Ah, do you mean that you will attempt to run away?" I demanded. But
Diana merely stared sullenly at the road before us. "This would be
very, very wrong, Diana, very cruel and very wicked because, according
to the laws of the Folk, you are already my wife."
"But not according to the Church. You said so--an' you ain't of the
Folk!"
"But I might turn gipsy--others have done so."
"Aye, but not your kind; you're best wi' your fine aunt to coddle
you--go back to your grand house an' servants, young man, and stay
there!"
"Some day, but not yet," I answered. "And when I go--you will go with
me."
"Oh, shall I!" she exclaimed scornfully. "You're precious sure of
yourself, ain't you?"
"I am!" I nodded, folding my arms. "And of one other thing!"
"What?"
"That you will make a very ill-tempered wife!"
"Oh, shall I!"
"You will."
"Not your'n, anyway. You ain't man enough."
"We shall see!" said I between shut teeth.
"Aha, now you're angry!" she laughed gleefully, and with some little
malice.
"You are enough to enrage a saint!" I retorted, and turning my back, I
bore with her gibes and fleerings as patiently as I might nor deigned
her further notice, so that in a little she became mute also; and thus
at last we reached Tonbridge. Scarcely were we in the High Street
than, not waiting for Diana to draw rein, I leapt from the cart with
such precipitation that I tripped awkwardly and rolled, grovelling, in
the dust.
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