It was a strange threat. That she made it, Duffham could, to this day, corroborate. Pulling her red cloak about her shoulders, she went swiftly through the gate, and disappeared within the opposite coppice.
Hyde smiled; his good humour was returning to him. One can be brave enough when an enemy turns tail.
“Idiotic old Egyptian!” he exclaimed lightly. “What on earth ever made her take the fancy into her head, that I knew what became of Kettie, I can’t imagine. I wonder, Duffham, some of you people in authority here don’t get her confined as a lunatic!”
“We must first of all find that she is a lunatic,” was Duffham’s dry rejoinder.
“Why, what else is she?”
“Not that.”
“She is; and a dangerous one,” retorted Hyde.
“Nonsense, man! Gipsies have queer ways and notions; and—and—are not to be judged altogether as other people,” added the doctor, finishing off (as it struck me) with different words from those he had been about to say. “Good-night; and don’t take any more of that champagne.”
Hyde returned indoors, and we walked away, not seeing a sign of the red cloak anywhere.
“I must say I should not like to be attacked in this manner, were I Hyde,” I remarked to Duffham. “How obstinate the old gipsy is!”