“If you like. Only don’t try to carry her off at night. Garvington says he will shoot any burglar who comes along after dark.”
“I never knew Garvington had anything to do with Chaldea.”
“Neither did I. Oh, I think you know very well what I mean.”
“Perhaps I do,” said the young man with an angry shrug, for really her interference with his affairs seemed to be quite unjustifiable. “But I am not going to bring a woman I respect into the Divorce Court.”
“Respect? Love, you mean to say.”
Lambert stopped, and faced her squarely. “I don’t wish to quarrel with you, Clara, as we are very old friends. But I warn you that I do possess a temper, and if you wish to see it, you are going the best way to get what you evidently want. Now, hold your tongue and talk of something else. Here is Chaldea.”
“Watching for you,” muttered Miss Greeby, as the slight figure of the gypsy girl was seen advancing swiftly. “Ha!” and she snorted suspiciously.
“Rye!” cried Chaldea, dancing toward the artist. “Sarishan rye.”
Miss Greeby didn’t understand Romany, but the look in the girl’s eyes was enough to reveal the truth. If Lambert did not love his beautiful model, it was perfectly plain that the beautiful model loved Lambert.
“O baro duvel atch’ pa leste!” said Chaldea, and clapped her slim hands.
An unexpected recognition.
“I wish you wouldn’t speak the calo jib to me, Chaldea,” said Lambert, smiling on the beautiful eager face. “You know I don’t understand it.”
“Nor I,” put in Miss Greeby in her manly tones. “What does Oh baro devil, and all the rest of it mean?”
“The Great God be with you,” translated Chaldea swiftly, “and duvel is not devil as you Gorgios call it.”
“Only the difference of a letter,” replied the Gentile lady good-humoredly. “Show us round your camp, my good girl.”
The mere fact that the speaker was in Lambert’s company, let alone the offensively patronizing tone in which she spoke, was enough to rouse the gypsy girl’s naturally hot temper. She retreated and swayed like a cat making ready to spring, while her black eyes snapped fire in a most unpleasant manner.
But Miss Greeby was not to be frightened by withering glances, and merely laughed aloud, showing her white teeth. Her rough merriment and masculine looks showed Chaldea that, as a rival, she was not to be feared, so the angry expression on the dark face changed to a wheedling smile.
“Avali! Avali! The Gorgios lady wants her fortune told.”
For the sake of diplomacy Miss Greeby nodded and fished in her pocket. “I’ll give you half a crown to tell it.”
“Not me—not me, dear lady. Mother Cockleshell is our great witch.”
“Take me to her then,” replied the other, and rapidly gathered into her brain all she could of Chaldea’s appearance.