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I am sure Prosper is innocent; but, if he should be guilty, I wish to share the punishment which awaits him." Mme. Gypsy's persistence was becoming alarming. She hastily drew around her a cashmere shawl, and, putting on her hat, declared that she was ready to walk from one end of Paris to the other, in search of the judge. "Come, monsieur," she said with feverish impatience.
"I do," said Miss Melville, smiling, "and I always think a little vote of thanks to you, when you are quiet and well-behaved. An orderly scholar has a great deal of influence. The girls all love you, and are apt to do as they see you do, Gypsy." There was a little silence, in which Gypsy's eyes were wandering away under the apple-boughs, their twinkling dimmed and soft.
I won't believe it!" she murmured in a voice that shook even as her hands were shaking. "It is too terrible!" No longer could she look at the huddled form in the grass, the young, frank face that was so still and white and cold in the sunshine. Throwing herself into the saddle, she swung Gypsy's head about toward the trail, as though she were fleeing from a fearful pursuing menace.
He has ceased to wear his ring, and once we caught a diamond-sparkle from beneath the thick folds of lace which cover Helen's bosom; but, on the other hand, we fear his arm has been round the gypsy's graceful waist, and that she has learnt the secret of the private chamber. Is demure Manetho a flirt, or do his affections and his ambition run counter to each other?
"Are they? where did I put my bag?" said Gypsy, carelessly. Joy looked a little piqued that she did not seem more impressed. "There's dinner," she said, after a silence, in which she had been secretly inspecting and commenting upon every article of Gypsy's attire. "Come, let's go down. Mother scolds if we're late." "Scolds!" said Gypsy. "How funny! my mother never scolds."
Breynton's, who felt herself particularly responsible for Gypsy's training, and gave her good advice, double measure, pressed down and running over. One morning it chanced that Gypsy was playing "stick-knife" with Tom out in the front yard, and that Mrs. Surly beheld her from her parlor window, and that Mrs. Surly was shocked. She threw up her window and called in an awful voice—
Everything was moving on a low, material and animal plane. He felt that manhood and womanhood was not what he had believed it to be. From the outside of the gypsy's tent, he could make but few discoveries of her method; and he waited impatiently until the last curious couple had departed. When they had disappeared, he entered.
"Yes, sir," said Gypsy, without the least idea what he was talking about. "Besides," added Mrs. Breynton, finishing, as she spoke, the long darn in Gypsy's dress, "I think people who give right up at little difficulties, on the theory that they can't help it, are " "Oh, I know that too!" "What?" "Cowards." "Exactly."
One of the persons was a huge man, dressed in black. His expression was one of sneering pride. The ends of his upturned moustache reached nearly to his mocking eyes. Another was a lady, young and beautiful, with eyes that could be round and artless, as a child's, or long and cozening, like a gypsy's, but were now keen and ambitious, like any other conspirator's.
There were several pretty pictures on the walls, but they were all hung crookedly; the curtain at the window was unlooped, and you could write your name anywhere in the dust that covered mantel, stove, and furniture. And this was Gypsy's room.
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