As usual, Walter was helping Betty, who, with her light laugh and equally light step, was making her way over the last stones of the wood way.
"Tell your fortune——"
"Oh, no," called back Mr. Rand, who had stopped to see what was delaying the party. "We don't need to be told. Here woman," and he threw back a coin, "take this and buy a—new shawl."
All this time the woman was standing directly in Cora's way. The path was very narrow, and on either side was close brushwood. Cora stepped in the bushes in order to get out to the road, and as she did she stumbled and fell.
In an instant Ed had caught her up, but not before the old woman had peered deep into Cora's face, had actually moved her scarf as if looking for some mark of recognition.
"I'll help her up," the woman exclaimed, when she saw that Ed was angry enough to thrust her to the edge of the pathway. "I see a fine fortune in her eyes. They are black, her hair is black, and she has the appearance of the girl who runs an automobile. Oh, yes, I remember!" and she now turned away satisfied. "These girls ride much. But she—she is their leader!"
"Oh, come," whispered Belle. "I am so frightened. That is one of the gypsies from the beach camp."
Cora had regained her feet, and with a bruised hand was now passing along with the others.
"We might have had a couple of quarts of fortune out of that basket just as well as not," insisted Jack. "I never saw anything so handy."
"Oh, those gypsies are a pest," declared Mr. Rand. "But I am just superstitious enough not to want to offend any of them. I claim to be a first-class chaperon—first-class!"