He stood and looked at me in a state of intense amusement, but did not speak.

‘So you are Cyril Aylwin?’ I said.  ’Still you must withdraw what you said to my sister about the soap.’

‘Delicious!’ said he, grasping my hand.  ’I had no idea that high gentility numbered chivalry among its virtues.  Lady Sinfi,’ he continued, turning to her, ’they say this brother of yours is a character, and, by Jove! he is.  And as to you, dear lady, I am proud of the family connection.  The man who has two Romany Rye kinsmen may be excused for showing a little pride.  I withdraw every word about the virtues of soap, and am convinced that it can do nothing with the true Romany-Aylwin brown.’

On that we shook hands all round.  ‘But, Sinfi,’ said I, ’why did you not tell me that this was my kinsman?’

‘’Cause I didn’t know,’ said she.  ’I han’t never seed him since I’ve know’d you.  I always heerd his friends call him Cyril, and so I used to call him Mr. Cyril.’

‘But, Lady Sinfi, my Helen of Little Egypt,’ said Cyril, ’suppose that in my encounter with my patrician cousin—­an encounter which would have been entirely got up in honour of you—­suppose it had happened that I had made your brother’s bed for him?’

‘You make his bed!’ exclaimed Sinfi, laughing.

‘Dordi! how you would ha’ went down afore the Swimmin’ Rei!’ [Footnote]

[Footnote:  By the Welsh Gypsies, but few of whom can swim, I was called ‘the Swimmin’ Rei,’ a name which would have been far more appropriately given to Percy Aylwin (Rhona Boswell’s lover), one of the strongest swimmers in England; but he was simply called the Tarno Rye (the young gentleman).]

‘But suppose that, on the contrary, he had gone down before me,’ said Cyril; ’suppose I had been the death of your Swimming Rei, I should have been tried for the wilful murder of a prince of Little Egypt, the son of a Romany duke.  Why, Helen of Troy was not half so mischievous a beauty as you.’

‘You was safe enough, no fear,’ said Sinfi.  ’It ‘ud take six o’ you to settle the Swimmin’ Rei.’

I found that Cyril and his strange companion were staying at ’The Royal Oak,’ at Bettws y Coed.  They asked me to join them, but when I told them I ’could not leave my people, who were encamped about two miles off,’ Cyril again looked at me with an expression of deepest enjoyment, and exclaimed ‘delightful creature.’

Turning to Sinfi, he said:  ’Then we’ll go with you and call upon the noble father of the twins, my old friend King Panuel.’

‘He ain’t a king,’ said Sinfi modestly; ‘he’s only a duke.’

‘You’ll give us some tea, Lady Sinfi?’ said Cyril.

‘No tea equal to Gypsy tea.’

‘Romany tea, Mr. Cyril,’ replied Sinfi, with perfect dignity and grace.  ‘My daddy, the duke, will be pleased to welcome you.’

We all strolled towards the tents.  I offered to carry an umbrella and a camp-stool.  Cyril walked briskly away with Sinfi, leaving me to get on with Wilderspin as best I could.  Before the other two were out of earshot, however, I heard Cyril say,