Now Babbie had been kissed before, but never thus, and she turned from Gavin, and would have liked to be alone, for she had begun to know what love was, and the flash that revealed it to her laid bare her own shame, so that her impulse was to hide herself from her lover.  But of all this Gavin was unconscious, and he repeated his question.  The lantern was swaying in her hand, and when she turned fearfully to him its light fell on his face, and she saw how alarmed he was.

“I am going away back to Nanny’s,” she said suddenly, and rose cowed, but he took her hand and held her.

“Babbie,” he said, huskily, “tell me what has happened to bring you here at this hour.”

She sought to pull her hand from him, but could not.

“How you are trembling!” he whispered.  “Babbie,” he cried, “something terrible has happened to you, but do not fear.  Tell me what it is, and then—­then I will take you to my mother:  yes, I will take you now.”

The Egyptian would have given all she had in the world to be able to fly from him then, that he might never know her as she was, but it could not be, and so she spoke out remorselessly.  If her voice had become hard, it was a new-born scorn of herself that made it so.

“You are needlessly alarmed,” she said; “I am not at all the kind of person who deserves sympathy or expects it.  There is nothing wrong.  I am staying with Nanny over-night, and only came to Thrums to amuse myself.  I chased your policeman down the Roods with my lantern, and then came here to amuse myself with you.  That is all.”

“It was nothing but a love of mischief that brought you here?” Gavin asked, sternly, after an unpleasant pause.

“Nothing,” the Egyptian answered, recklessly.

“I could not have believed this of you,” the minister said; “I am ashamed of you.”

“I thought,” Babbie retorted, trying to speak lightly until she could get away from him, “that you would be glad to see me.  Your last words in Caddam seemed to justify that idea.”

“I am very sorry to see you,” he answered, reproachfully.

“Then I will go away at one,” she said, stepping out of the summer-seat.

“Yes,” he replied, “you must go at once.”

“Then I won’t,” she said, turning back defiantly.  “I know what you are to say:  that the Thrums people would be shocked if they knew I was here; as if I cared what the Thrums people think of me.”

“I care what they think of you,” Gavin said, as if that were decisive, “and I tell you I will not allow you to repeat this freak.”

“You ‘will not allow me,’” echoed Babbie, almost enjoying herself, despite her sudden loss of self-respect,

“I will not,” Gavin said, resolutely.  “Henceforth you must do as I think fit.”

“Since when have you taken command of me?” demanded Babbie.

“Since a minute ago,” Gavin replied, “when you let me kiss you.”