“Ay; and able to see far too. Would you like to know what I can see for you, my sweet young lady?” she went on, dropping into the wheedling whine of the professional fortune-teller.
“It would be fun to have my fortune told,” said the girl rather wistfully.
“Yvonne, I’m surprised at you,” said Wagram, with somewhat of an approach to sternness. “Don’t you know that all that sort of thing is forbidden, child, and very wisely so, too?”
“I know; but I don’t mean seriously—only just for the fun of the thing.”
“No—no. Not ‘only just for’ anything; it’s not to be thought of.”
“It’s ’ard to live,” whined the woman, “and me that’s tramped without bite or sup since yesterday. And I’m that ’ungry!”
She certainly looked her words. Wagram softened in a moment.
“Here,” he said; “and now take my advice and get on your way. We don’t want any fortune-tellers round here.”
The tramp spat gleefully—for luck—on the half-crown which lay in her surprised palm.
“Thankee, sir, and good luck to you, sir, and to the sweet young lady. I’ll move on, never fear. You’re a genelman, you are.”