He began to recollect himself when he came this length. To say “you’re a lady” seemed quite simple when he began to speak; but as he went on it did not prove so easy. If she was a lady how could he venture to make any such remark?
She gave a little soft laugh which was very pretty to hear. “Old Crockford is--a sort of an uncle of mine,” she said.
“Well, no--not quite my uncle, but something a little like it. When I am humble-minded I call him so; when I am not humble-minded--”
“I say as little about it as I can; I think as little about it as I can. No,” she said, with a little vehemence, “I’m not a lady, and yet I’m not a--Martha Crockford. I am a poor little London cockney girl. You shouldn’t be walking with me, sir; you oughtn’t to see me home, you, a gentleman’s son. People might talk. As soon as we get into the moonlight there, where it is so bright, I will release you and run home.”
“Home!” said Walter, incredulous; “it is not possible. Whoever you are--and of course I have no right to ask--I am sure you are a lady. You are as little like the Crockfords as any one could be. No doubt you must have some reason--”
“Oh, yes,” she said, with a laugh, clasping her hands, “a mysterious reason; how can you doubt it? I am a heroine, and I have got a story. I am in hiding from Prince Charming, who wants to run away with me and make me his queen; but I won’t have him, for I am too high-toned. I could not have him shock his court and break the queen mother’s heart. Every word I say makes you more certain what sort of person I am. Now doesn’t it?” she cried, with another laugh.
“I can’t tell what sort of a person you are,” said Walter, “for I am sure I never talked to any one like you before.”
“Well,” she said, with a quick breath which might have been a sigh, “I hope that is a compliment. I have been talking to Martha all night, dropping my h’s and making havoc with my grammar. It is nice to do the other thing for a little and bewilder some one else. Yes; I am sure this is a pretty road when there is light to see it. One can’t see it in the moonlight, one can see nothing for the moon.”
“That is true,” said Walter; “just as in summer you can’t see the grass for flowers.”
“I don’t exactly catch the resemblance. What is that lying under the hedge? The shadow is so black, so black now we have got into the light. Look, please; I feel a little frightened. What is that under the hedge?”