Cheriton had a pleasing sense of uncertainty as to whether the curiosity of the public was due to the imperious challenge of female beauty, or to the appearance and attainments of the fourth earl of that name. Being a very vain man, he was not disinclined to believe that it was the latter; therefore he sat in the enclosure sipping his tea with a superb air, and preening his plumage like a venerable cockatoo.
“He wears a wig!” a member of the public could be heard to say quite distinctly.
“Oh yes,” said a second member, with an air of information. “The Romanoffs are always short of hair. The late Czar was as bald as an egg.”
After doing frank and impartial justice to the tea and confectionery, Miss Perry made her way to the Gypsy’s Tent to have her palm crossed with silver.
“I see a tall dark man,” said the gypsy.
“Yes,” said Cheriton, “there is no doubt about him. But what about a short bald fellow, with a tendency to apoplexy and a face as red as a turkey’s?”
“I don’t see him at present,” said the gypsy.
“Are you sure?” said Cheriton.
“I see a tall fair man who is young and handsome,” said the gypsy. Jim Lascelles had just entered the tent with Miss Burden. “And I see a tall dark woman, and, yes, a short fair man, who is rich and rather stout, begins to emerge. He is old, and he appears to have been twice married——”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Miss Burden, in a voice of awe.