"Forgive me, instead," said Ydo, with charming penitence. "But I was the Gipsy to‑night in heart and feeling. I had to put on these. Oh," throwing herself into a chair, "I have suffered to‑day. It has been coming on for days. Ennui. Do you know it, pretty lady? And the longing for mine own people."
"Your people are not in this country, are they?" asked Kitty politely.
The Mariposa drew her brows together in a little puzzled frown. "My people!" she repeated. "Oh," with dawning comprehension, "you mean relatives. I," with a short laugh, "I said mine own people. You," turning to Robert, "you understand. One of the greatest, most searching questions ever asked, and which must finally be answered by each of us from the promptings of his own heart, is: 'Who is my brother and my sister?' Ah, I shall soon take to the road again. If I could only go now!"
"To find your own people," asked Kitty timidly.
"One does not seek one's own," said Ydo disdainfully. "One does not 'scour the seas nor sift mankind a poet or a friend to find.' He comes, and you know him because he is a poor Greek like yourself. Dear lady"—she broke into one of her airy rushes of laughter—"in spite of your smiles and all the self‑control of a careful social training, you are the picture of bewilderment. See, you can keep no secrets from the fortune‑teller. You can not place me. Why do you try? I refused to be announced and mine was the fate of the listener. Brutus there is an honorable man who admits that I am extravagant, even if he condones it. Ah, madame, money is not wealth, it is a base counterfeit, a servant whom I bid to exchange itself for beauty. These"—she stripped the petals from a red rose in a vase near her, and tossed them in the air—"these are the real wealth of the world. And Brutus says I am stilted, exaggerated in my conversation, given to metaphor and hyperbole. That is because I dare to express what I feel, and since everywhere I see parables I voice them. Why not?
"And Brutus says I am eccentric, admitting that I dare to be myself; and to dare to be one's self, dear lady, is to dare everything. We are afraid of life, of love, of sorrow and joy, of everything. This fear of life is universal."
"And you, are you never afraid?" asked Kitty.
"Of what?" laughed the Gipsy. "Let me tell you a secret; and oh, madame, wear it next your heart, guard it. 'Tis a talisman against fear. The lions are always chained. Believe me, it is so. But our conversation is of a seriousness! Mr. Hayden spoke of a dinner."
"Yes, and he's given me permission to do just as I choose," said Kitty. "So it's got to be a success—"
"And she's trying to say," interrupted Hayden, "that it couldn't possibly be a success without you."