"We have no time for fortune-telling," said Seth, adding gently, "and no money."
"Sixpence won't harm you, kind gentleman," said the gipsy, sitting on a hillock, so that her face and Sally's were on a level. "You haven't come all the way from London to spoil the pleasure of these little ladies for sixpence."
"Oh, oh!" cried Sally, palpitating. "She knows we come from London!"
"The gipsy woman knows everything, and sees everything, pretty lady."
The circumstance of being called pretty lady in so winsome a voice was honey to Sally's soul.
Seeing no way but one out of the difficulty, Seth gave the woman a sixpenny-piece, which she, suspicious of the tricks of Londoners of a common grade, placed between her teeth to test. Sally meanwhile, having an arm disengaged, clasped the Duchess's waist, and drew her close to her side. The gipsy cast a rapid glance upon the two children, noting the tenderness expressed in the action, and then fell to examining Sally's hand.
"You see the usual things in it, of course," said Seth, with but small respect in his tone for the woman's art. "What usual things?" asked the gipsy.
"Sickness, sorrow, sweethearts, riches."
"I see no riches; here is trouble."
"Not in the present," said Seth, somewhat repentant of his rashness in angering the woman, as he saw Sally turn pale.