CHAPTER XXIII.
JUNE’S REASON—LETTER FROM PAUL.
Carrie Horton was seated in the Wilmer library. She had wandered to the bright and glowing little world of books, and choice and rare paintings. June was entertaining Guy in the parlor and Carrie knew that he would say that “three was a crowd,” so she had left them alone, saying significantly that if they did not care she would go to the library. She had taken a volume of travels and was soon deeply absorbed in its contents.
“Ah, good evening, Miss Horton,” Scott said, entering the room. “I think I will follow your example.”
“Mr. Wilmer,” Carrie said at length, looking up from her book, “will you allow me to interrupt you?”
“Certainly.”
“I have just been reading of a tribe of gypsies, and I have never yet found any information as to where they originated. I have heard of them often and seen them, too, but I never knew to what nation they belong, though I have often wondered. Can you tell me anything about them?”
“They are claimed by history as being a mysterious, vagabond race, scattered over the whole of Europe, Asia, Africa and even America. Where they originated is still a matter of speculation, as the question has been studied by competent investigators, and is still but partially solved. No fact seems really established except that India, the cradle of many nations, was the source from which they sprang. Their language is a corruption of many others with a loss of some of their own original language. They are a lawless race and are quick at framing a falsehood, and cunning at thieving.”
“They are, naturally, a filthy class of people, too,” said Carrie. “I have seen some young gypsy girls who would have been really beautiful had it not been for their slovenly attire and tangled hair.”