Peregrine's Progress Part 29

DIANA. And why d'ye want me to do--to be all this?

MYSELF. Because it is a duty you owe to the world and your own womanhood. If we all strove to do our best, the world would become a better place for everybody, at once.

DIANA (pa.s.sionately). Oh, 'tis easy for you to talk so fine; you've got friends--rich friends t' help you! But who have I got--

MYSELF. Well, Diana, his name, as I told you before, is Peregrine.

DIANA. You?

MYSELF. Precisely--

DIANA. d'ye mean--what do you mean?

MYSELF. That I will be your true friend always--to help you so long as you need--if you will have me. My friends shall be your friends--especially my aunt Julia, who is the n.o.blest and best of women--

DIANA (ungraciously). A _Kooshti para rati_--a true _rawni_--a grand lady, I s'pose?

MYSELF. She is a truly great lady.

DIANA. And wears silk gowns that rustle, I s'pose?

MYSELF (mystified). I believe her gowns do rustle--but what in the world--?

DIANA. Then I should hate her!

MYSELF. But why? In the name of reason why under heaven should--?

DIANA. Just because!

MYSELF. Pray be more explicit. Why should you hate one whom--?

DIANA. Because she'd rustle her fine silks at me and look through me and try to make me feel I was only small beer.

MYSELF. 'Small beer' is an extremely unpleasing phrase, Diana.

DIANA. But it tells ye what I mean. I sees grand ladies afore to-day and I don't want any of 'em to rustle at me! I won't have their pity and I don't want their help--I likes the silent places and my little _churi_ best.

MYSELF. My aunt Julia is a very n.o.ble woman, as good as she is beautiful, a woman whom all respect and honour--

DIANA. Well, I hates her already.

MYSELF. That is exceedingly unreasonable! How can you hate one you have never seen?

DIANA. Easily.

MYSELF. But in heaven's name, why?

DIANA. Because I do!

MYSELF. That is no answer! (Here she scowled at me.) Pray be sensible, Diana! (Here she kicked viciously at a tuft of gra.s.s.) Indeed you make it very difficult for me to help you.

"I don't want your help either!" she retorted angrily.

"No matter!" quoth I, folding my arms. "My mind is quite made up."

"So is mine!" and speaking, she would have risen, but I caught a fold of her petticoat. "Let go!" she cried.

"Sit still, Diana, and listen to me!"

"Let me go!"

"Not until you have heard all I wish to say--" As I spoke, with a movement incredibly quick, she flashed out her knife.

"What, Diana," said I, staring into her fierce eyes, "do you think that is necessary with me? Would you harm your friend, child?" The fierce eyes drooped and, averting her head, she sat mute and still. "I am going to help you," I continued, "because in spite of any or every demon, I know you are sweet and pure and good."

"How--d'ye know this?" she questioned.

"I know it, I am sure of it--oh, well--because!"

"That's no answer!" said she in her turn.

"Still, I think you know what I mean. But, and this is very sure, Diana, because I respect you, I would have the world respect you. And therefore I am going to help you however I may. So that is settled once for all."

"Suppose I--runs away?"

"I shall have to find you, of course."

"Then you--don't want to be rid o' me--so much?"

"Certainly not!"

"But you offered me your gold watch to--"

"True!" I admitted, a little put out. "But I--I did not know or understand you--then."

"And do you now?"

"I think so--or at least enough to know that you can also help me if you will--"

"How could I help you?" she questioned wistfully.

"You might perhaps teach me to be--less of a coward--more like yourself--"

"Like me?" she repeated, wondering.

"You are so strong, Diana, so brave and fearless and I--ran away like the coward I am--left you alone to face--"

Here, once more overcome by memory of my shame, I covered my face; but now, all at once, perceiving my abas.e.m.e.nt and bitter remorse, moved by a sweet impulse she clasped her arm about my stooping shoulders and sought earnestly to comfort me.