Gavin's fingers twitched with mortification, and not only his fingers but his toes.
"Let us measure," she said, sweetly, putting her back to his. "You are not stretching your neck, are you?"
"There is one subject," he said, with great dignity, "that I allow no one to speak of in my presence, and that is my--my height."
His face was as white as his cravat when the surprised Egyptian next looked at him, and he was panting like one who has run a mile. She was ashamed of herself, and said so.
"It is a topic I would rather not speak about," Gavin answered, dejectedly, "especially to you."
He meant that he would rather be a tall man in her company than in any other, and possibly she knew this, though all she answered was--
"You wanted to know if I am really a gypsy. Well, I am."
"Ah, well, that is my forbidden topic. But we have a good many ideas in common after all, have we not, though you are only a minis--I mean, though I am only a gypsy?"
There fell between them a silence that gave Babbie time to remember she must go.
"I have already stayed too long," she said. "Give my love to Nanny, and say that I am coming to see her soon, perhaps on Monday. I don't suppose you will be there on Monday, Mr. Dishart?"
"No, you will be too busy. Are you to take the holly berries?"
"I had better not," said Gavin, dolefully.
"Give them to me," he said, and as he took them his hand shook.
"I know why you are looking so troubled," said the Egyptian, archly. "You think I am to ask you the colour of my eyes, and you have forgotten again."
He would have answered, but she checked him.
"Make no pretence," she said, severely; "I know you think they are blue."
She came close to him until her face almost touched his.
"Look hard at them," she said, solemnly, "and after this you may remember that they are black, black, black!"
At each repetition of the word she shook her head in his face. She was adorable. Gavin's arms--but they met on nothing. She had run away.
When the little minister had gone, a man came from behind a tree and shook his fist in the direction taken by the gypsy. It was Rob Dow, black with passion.
"It's the Egyptian!" he cried. "You limmer, wha are you that hae got haud o' the minister?"
He pursued her, but she vanished as from Gavin in Windyghoul.