"If you like. Only don't try to carry her off at night. Garvington says he will shoot any burglar who comes along after dark."
"I never knew Garvington had anything to do with Chaldea."
"Neither did I. Oh, I think you know very well what I mean."
"Perhaps I do," said the young man with an angry shrug, for really her interference with his affairs seemed to be quite unjustifiable. "But I am not going to bring a woman I respect into the Divorce Court."
"Respect? Love, you mean to say."
Lambert stopped, and faced her squarely. "I don't wish to quarrel with you, Clara, as we are very old friends. But I warn you that I do possess a temper, and if you wish to see it, you are going the best way to get what you evidently want. Now, hold your tongue and talk of something else. Here is Chaldea."
"Watching for you," muttered Miss Greeby, as the slight figure of the gypsy girl was seen advancing swiftly. "Ha!" and she snorted suspiciously.
"Rye!" cried Chaldea, dancing toward the artist. "Sarishan rye."
Miss Greeby didn't understand Romany, but the look in the girl's eyes was enough to reveal the truth. If Lambert did not love his beautiful model, it was perfectly plain that the beautiful model loved Lambert.
"O baro duvel atch' pa leste!" said Chaldea, and clapped her slim hands.