“Now, he is not going to tell lies on the old gipsy!—It will be three o’clock. Come up at my tent for the biled beef and carrots and the pot of porter,” said the fortune-teller, laying her hands upon the lips of the police officer.
At that moment the two young men stepped up.
Gentilly turned to them immediately.
“Tell your fortune, sweet young gentlemen? Cross the poor gipsy’s hand with silver to tell your fortune.”
“No, thank you,” laughed Spencer. “I have had my fortune told by members of your tribe at least ten times to-day.”
“But here’s half a crown for you if you’ll only go away and not bother,” added Tredegar, dropping the coin into the gipsy’s hand.
“Blessings on your handsome face, kind gentleman! Ah! I could tell you of a fair lady who is thinking of you,” coaxed Gentilly.
“And thinking what a long-legged, lantern-jawed, lankhaired fright the Yankee boy is, no doubt. All right; you can tell me that another time; but go now and don’t bother.”
“Yes, Gentilly, you really must move on,” added the policeman.
And the fortune-teller, having gleaned all that she could from the company, did move on.