He said a word that I should have thought a baronet would have been above using.
"Who brought you here?"
We described the gentleman who had done this, and again the baronet said things we should never be allowed to say. "That confounded Carew!" he added, with more words.
"Is anything wrong?" asked Dora—"can we do anything? We'll stay on longer if you like—if you can't find the lady who was doing Esmeralda before we came."
"I'm not very likely to find her," he said ferociously. "Stay longer indeed! Get away out of my sight before I have you locked up for vagrants and vagabonds."
He left the scene in bounding and mad fury. We thought it best to do as he said, and went round the back way to the stables so as to avoid exciting his ungoverned rage by meeting him again. We found our cart and went home. We had got two quid and something to talk about.
But none of us—not even Oswald the discerning—understood exactly what we had been mixed up in, till the pink satin box with three large bottles of A1 scent in it, and postmarks of foreign lands, came to Dora. And there was a letter. It said—
"My dear Gipsies,—I beg to return the Eau de Cologne you so kindly lent me. The lady did use a little of it, but I found that foreign travel was what she really wanted to make her quite happy. So we caught the 4.15 to town, and now we are married, and intend to live to a green old age, &c., as you foretold. But for your help my fortune couldn't have come true, because my wife's father, Sir Willoughby, thought I was not rich enough to marry. But you see I was. And my wife and I both thank you heartily for your kind help. I hope it was not an awful swat. I had to say five because of the train. Good luck to you, and thanks awfully.
"Yours faithfully,
"Carisbrook Carew."
If Oswald had known beforehand we should never have made that two quid for Miss Sandal.