“Has she gone away with a gipsy camp, or merely to live with your son?”
The woman burst out laughing.
“Do you think of following her and trying to win her back? It's too late, sir; you should have thought of that before!”
“No; I only want to know the truth, if you will tell it to me.”
She shrugged her shoulders; it was hardly worth while to abuse a person who took it so meekly.
“The truth, then, is that she met my son in the road the day you left her, and spoke to him in the Romany tongue; and when he saw she was one of our folk, in spite of her fine clothes, he fell in love with her bonny face, as OUR men fall in love, and took her to our camp. She told us all her trouble, and sat crying and sobbing, poor lassie, till our hearts were sore for her. We comforted her as best we could; and at last she took off her fine clothes and put on the things our lasses wear, and gave herself to my son, to be his woman and to have him for her man. He won't say to her: 'I don't love you,' and: 'I've other things to do.' When a woman is young, she wants a man; and what sort of man are you, that you can't even kiss a handsome girl when she puts her arms round your neck?”
“You said,” he interrupted, “that you had brought me a message from her.”
“Yes; I stopped behind when the camp went on, so as to give it. She told me to say that she has had enough of your folk and their hair-splitting and their sluggish blood; and that she wants to get back to her own people and be free. 'Tell him,' she said, 'that I am a woman, and that I loved him; and that is why I would not be his harlot any longer.' The lassie was right to come away. There's no harm in a girl getting a bit of money out of her good looks if she can—that's what good looks are for; but a Romany lass has nothing to do with LOVING a man of your race.”
The Gadfly stood up.
“Is that all the message?” he said. “Then tell her, please, that I think she has done right, and that I hope she will be happy. That is all I have to say. Good-night!”