by a violent effort from shaking her. "You
are talking nonsense," he declared with enforced calmness. "And it is
ridiculous for you to love a man who does not care in the least for
you."

"It will come--I can wait," insisted Chaldea sullenly.

"If you wait until Doomsday it will make no difference. I don't love
you, and I have never given you any reason to think so."

"Chee-chee!" bantered the girl. "Is that because I am not a raclan?"

"A raclan?"

"A married Gentile lady, that is. You love her?"

"I--I--see, here, Chaldea, I am not going to talk over such things with
you, as my affairs are not your business."

"They are the business of the Gorgious female's rom."

"Rom? Her husband, you mean. What do you know of--"

"I know that the Gentle Pine is really one of us," interrupted the girl
quickly. "Ishmael Hearne is his name."

"Sir Hubert Pine?"

"Ishmael Hearne," insisted Chaldea pertly. "He comes to the fire of the
Gentle Romany when he wearies of your Gorgious flesh-pots."

"Pine a gypsy," muttered Lambert, and the memory of that dark, lean,
Eastern face impressed him with the belief that what the girl said was
true.

"Avali. A true son of the road. He is here."

"Here?" Lambert started violently. "What do you mean?"

"I say what I mean, rye. He you call Pine is in our camp enjoying the
old life. Shall I bring him to you?" she inquired demurely.

In a flash Lambert saw his danger, and the danger of Agnes, seeing that
the millionaire was as jealous as Othello. However, it seemed to him
that honesty was the best policy at the moment. "I shall see him myself
later," he declared after a pause. "If you listened, you must know that
there is no reason why I should not see him. His wife is my cousin, and
paid me a friendly visit--that is all."

"Yes; that is all," mocked the girl contemptuously. "But if I tell
him--"

"Tell him what?"

"That you love his romi!"

"He knows that," said Lambert quietly. "And knows also that I am an
honorable man. See here, Chaldea, you are dangerous, because this silly
love of yours has warped your common sense. You can make a lot of
mischief if you so choose, I know well."

"And I _shall_ choose, my golden rye, if you love me not."

"Then set about it at once," said Lambert boldly. "It is best to be
honest, my girl. I have done nothing wrong, and I don't intend to do
anything wrong, so you can say what you like. To-night I shall go to
London, and if Pine, or Hearn