After a thoughtful moment Phyllis ventured: “Nan, would you feel very badly if you were to discover that you are not a real gypsy at all; that perhaps your mother for some reason had given you into the keeping of Manna Lou and had died before she returned to claim you? You might have been a Rumanian princess and the throne might have been threatened and it was necessary to hide you.”
Nan’s merry laughter pealed out. “Phyllis, you are trying to steal my thunder, making up exciting tales as you go along. Now you know, dearie, that I have won fame, if not fortune, by improvising impossible fiction, and I do not want to relinquish, even to you, the laurels I have won.”
Phyllis watching the glowing dark face asked another question. “What do the real Rumanians look like. I mean the ones that are not gypsies. Aren’t they very dark and beautiful just as you are?”
Nan sprang to her feet and made a sweeping curtsy as she exclaimed dramatically:—“Would that everyone had eyes like yours. But truly, dear,” the gypsy girl dropped back into her deep easy chair, “I know no more of the Rumanians than you do. Just what we have learned in our illustrated book on ‘Men and Manners of Many Lands.’”
“But you haven’t answered my question,” the fair girl persisted. “Would you be dissappointed if some day it should be discovered that you are white and—.” Again Nan laughingly interrupted, making an effort to look in the mirror without rising. “Goodness, am I black?” Then, before Phyllis could remonstrate, Nan continued; “I thought I was just a nice brown or—“ Her friend sprang up and kissed her lovingly, then perched on the arm of the chair, she exclaimed warmly: “You have the most velvety smooth olive complexion. Many American girls have one similar, but not nearly as nice, and now, since you do not want to answer my question, we will change the subject.”
Nan, nestled lovingly against her friend. “Indeed I shall answer your question. I would be very, very sorry if I were to suddenly learn that I am not at all a gypsy. I would feel—well as though I were a stranger to myself or as though my past was a dream from which I had been rudely awakened. I wouldn’t know how to begin to live as somebody quite different.” Then, as a bell rang and Phyllis arose, Nan concluded: “But we need have no fear of such a sudden transforming, for I know I am a gypsy. Manna Lou never told a lie and she said time and again that the only part of my story that she would or could tell me was that I am one of their own band.”
Impulsively Phyllis kissed her friend. “If being a gypsy is what makes you so adorable, I wish we had more of your band in our midst.”
Then after hastily tidying and washing in their very own wee lavatory, arm in arm the two girls went down to the dining hall again, chatting happily about the week-end treat that was in store for them.
CHAPTER XXIV.
NAN’S FIRST MASQUERADE.
The home of the Dorchesters was brilliantly lighted and the little hostess Peggy, who represented a rose fairy, was exquisitely gowned in filmy pink. Her small black mask hung over her shoulder and she was arranging a huge basket of apple blossom sprays in the library when Phyllis, looking like a very lovely May Queen, entered the room.