CHAPTER XIII.
MOWBRAY'S FOLLY AT CHELSEA.
The situation was becoming critical for poor O'Flannigan and his companion, when an unexpected ally appeared upon the field of battle, in the person of the majestic Oriental who had served as the elephant driver.
"Look here!" he cried. "This is a shameful farce. This gentleman is innocent; I'll go bond for him! And as for this brown-skinned Jezebel, do you not recognize her as the gypsy who told fortunes at Saint Bartholomew fair, and who has so often been hauled up before the magistrates in Bow Street?"
"It's a fact!" explained some one. "It is Rahab, the gypsy queen!"
"Call the watchmen and let the beggar be taken to prison!"
From all sides resounded groans of disapproval. "No, no! no police! This is a joke. Don't do her any harm!"
But at the words "watchmen" and "prison" the gypsy had folded her tent and silently stolen away.
Assisted by his generous auxiliary, O'Flannigan conducted Mrs. Marsham, suffocating with mortification and rage, to a retired seat in an almost deserted side-room. There a footman brought her a glass of water, of which she swallowed half and then proceeded to take a survey of her surroundings.
"I shall remember this evening!" she remarked. "The Lord has punished me for my curiosity as he chastised our mother Eve before me. However," added the good woman, relieving her mind with a fib, "I wished to give my niece the pleasure."