“Come, dear,” Phyllis was saying, “I will help you dress as we are to start in half an hour. The rest of us dressed before dinner, but though I hunted everywhere, I could not find you.”
Nan permitted herself to be led to their room and mechanically she let down her long dark hair. Suddenly the thought came to her that she would awaken at dawn and slip out to the camp and then she could ask her gypsy friends if they knew aught of her Manna Lou.
Half an hour later, trying to assume a spirit of merriment that she might not mar the joyousness of the others, Nan climbed into the waiting car that was to take them to the city. Muriel watched her go, then turning to Daisy Wells, she said, “Now, you and I are going down to the gypsy camp and find out what it was that Nan Barrington said when she was talking in that queer language.”
The other girl looked up from the problem that she was trying to solve, as she replied, “No Muriel, I am not going. I promised little Janet that I would help her with her sums tonight. She has been ill and is eager to catch up with her class, and, moreover, I have no desire to spy upon actions of a schoolmate.”
“Oh, indeed!” Muriel said with a toss of her head and then she added sarcastically, “Aren’t you afraid that you will soon be sprouting wings? It seems to me that you have become a saint very suddenly.”
Daisy had arisen and was gathering up her books and papers as she quietly replied, “No, Muriel, I am not pretending to be better than anyone else, but I like Nan Barrington, no one could help liking her, she is so kind and generous, and I do not in the least care what her ancestry may be. Yes, Janet dear, I’m coming right away,” she added to the frail little girl who had appeared in the doorway.
Muriel, left alone, put on a long cloak, and, winding a scarf about her head, she went out. Well she knew that it was against the rules to go beyond the seminary grounds at night, but she did not care. Something was all wrong in the heart of Muriel Metcalf, and that something was jealousy which was rapidly becoming hatred. She had so wanted to win the medal of gold, but she knew that Nan Barrington had practiced far more conscientiously. Vaguely Muriel thought that, perhaps, if she could find out something against Nan, she might have her barred from the coming contest.
Having reached the gate in the hedge, Muriel peered through, and saw, in the light of the camp fire, the gypsies sitting close about it, for the night was cold. When the girl approached, one of the gypsy women rose and called in greeting, “Ha, pretty leicheen, I feared you were not coming.” Then, as the firelight fell on the face of the girl, she added truly disappointed, “but you are not the same. Could she not come, the other little girl?”
“No,” Muriel replied. “She wished me to say that she had to go into the city.” Then eager to obtain the information for which she had come, she added hurriedly, “Nan Barrington tells me that she too, is a gypsy.”
“Yes, the pretty leicheen is one of us.” Then, in a wheedling voice, the gypsy woman said, “Let me tell your fortune, dearie. Cross my palm with silver. I see much happiness for you, but it is far off. First there is trouble. You are trying to harm someone who is your friend, someone who is to do much to help you. You should not do this.”