And not caring what
anybody in the world thinks. Gipsies. Shall we?"
"Wh-h-h-h-y--" He was sure she was mad. Tramping all night!
He couldn't let her do this.
She sprang up. She stared down at him in revulsion, her hands
clenched. Her voice was hostile as she demanded:
"What? Don't you want to? With _me?_"
He was up beside her, angry, dignified; a man.
"Look here. You know I want to. You're the elegantest--I mean
you're--Oh, you ought to know! Can't you see how I feel
about you? Why, I'd rather do this than anything I ever heard
of in my life. I just don't want to do anything that would get
people to talking about you."
"Who would know? Besides, my dear man, I don't regard it as
exactly wicked to walk decently along a country road."
"Oh, it isn't that. Oh, please, Istra, don't look at me like
that--like you hated me."
She calmed at once, drummed on his arm, sat down on the railing,
and drew him to a seat beside her.
"Of course, Mouse. It's silly to be angry. Yes, I do believe
you want to take care of me.
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