"She is waiting for the fairy prince," said that young gentleman smiling. "And he is coming to this camp almost immediately."
"Ishmael Hearne is coming," replied the gypsy. "But he is no rom of mine, and never will be."
"Who is he, then?" asked Lambert carelessly.
"One of the great Romany."
Miss Greeby remembered that Mother Cockleshell had also spoken of the expected arrival at the camp in these terms. "A kind of king?" she asked.
Chaldea laughed satirically. "Yes; a kind of king," she assented; then turned her back rudely on the speaker and addressed Lambert: "I can't come, rye. Ishmael will want to see me. I must wait."
"What a nuisance," said Lambert, looking annoyed. "Fancy, Clara. I have an idea of painting these two as Beauty and the Beast, or perhaps as Esmeralda and Quasimodo. I want them to come to the cottage and sit now, but they will wait for this confounded Ishmael."
"We can come to-morrow," put in Chaldea quickly. "This afternoon I must dance for Ishmael, and Kara must play."
"Ishmael will meet with a fine reception," said Miss Greeby, and then, anxious to have a private conversation with Chaldea so as to disabuse her mind of any idea she may have entertained of marrying Lambert, she added, "I think I shall stay and see him."
"In that case, I shall return to my cottage," replied Lambert, sauntering up the pathway, which was strewn with withered leaves.