u
really can laugh aloud, Mr. Cyril. What has happened? What can have
happened to make my dear friend laugh aloud?'

'Well he may ask,' said Cyril, turning to me. 'He knows that ever
since I was a boy in jackets I have despised the man who, in a world
where all is so comic, could select any particular point of the farce
for his empty guffaw. But I am conquered at last. Let me introduce
you, Wilderspin, to my kinsman, Henry Aylwin of Raxton Hall, alias
Lord Henry Lovell of Little Egypt--one of Duke Panuel's interesting
twinses.'

But Wilderspin's astonishment, apparently, was not at the
_rencontre_: it was at the spectacle of his companion's hilarity.
'Wonderful!' he murmured, with his eyes still fastened upon Cyril.
'My dear friend can laugh aloud. Most wonderful! What can have
happened?'

This is what had happened. By one of those strange coincidences which
make the drama of real life far more wonderful than the drama of any
stage, I, in my character of wandering Gypsy, had been thrown across
the path of the _bete noire_ of my mother and aunt, Cyril Aylwin, a
painter of bohemian proclivities, who (under the name of 'Cyril') had
obtained some considerable reputation. This kinsman of mine had been
held up to me as a warning from my very childhood, though wherein lay
his delinquencies I never did clearly understand, save that he had
once been an actor--before acting had become genteel. Often as I had
heard of this eccentric painter as the representative of the branch
of the family which preceded mine in the succession to the coveted
earldom, I had never seen him before.

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'v