You and I know differently, but nevertheless it is best that I seem but a poor vagrant grinding forth a hapless tune for the coppers by the wayside." The minstrel gazed idly at the hay-camp.
"One does not quite understand," he suggested raising handsome eyebrows in subtle disapproval; "the negro, the hay--the curious camp ?" Diane recalled Philip's unfeeling attitude of the night before.
"A happy-go-lucky young man with a taste for hay," she said.

"I know little of him." "One treasures one's confidence from the unsympathetic," ventured the minstrel.

"Now the young man of the hay, I take it, is intensely practical and let us say--unromantic.

Lest he laugh and scoff--" he shrugged and glanced furtively at the girl's face.

It was brightly flushed and very lovely.