"His name is Smith," says she at last, taking the name we had been married in.
The pseudo-justice expressed his disappointment. He grieved to say that to the best of his knowledge no person of that name had called upon him that evening.
"But he was among the gypsies that were brought to your house this evening," Cynthia persisted. "What is become of them?"
"Is your husband a gypsy, madam?" says he. "I should have thought it not at all likely, to judge by the appearance of his wife?"
"No, he is not," says she.
"Then why is he concerned with gypsies in such a scandalous charge?"
At every turn the mischievous fellow contrived some new means of embarrassing her story; and at the same time he embarrassed my patience also, as he very well knew. But it was quite in vain for me to publish my threats from behind the screen. Both of us were delivered into his hands.
"I am disappointed that he was among the gypsies, madam," says he, "since they were discharged and sent away several hours ago."
"Oh," says Cynthia eagerly, "how glad I am to hear that!" But then her face fell. "How may I find him?" she says, very anxiously.
"Nay, madam," says Fielding, "that is more than I can tell. But I am disappointed to hear that his name is Smith. You are sure his name is Smith, madam?"