A hoarse voice greeted them:
"This way—guv'nor! Six sticks a penny! All-the-fun-o'-the-fair! Now then—young sir—move on ... Hi!—Don't shove the lidy!—Six sticks a penny!" They found themselves in the centre of the firing line.
"Got 'im!" Bethune shouted his approval. "Bravo, Miss Uniacke!" as Roddy with a yell captured the cocoanut his sister had dislodged.
The crowd pressed round them, and McTaggart found himself suddenly isolated from his own party.
"Cross the gypsy's 'and, my fine gentleman..." A coaxing voice chanted in his ear.
"There's fortune for you, dearie; I see it in your face—it's coming over the seas—with a golden crown..."
Peter turned quickly. In the dim half light he looked back into a pair of glowing dark eyes: a gypsy woman's face with glossy black hair and long coral earrings hanging on each side.
He was going to draw back when he felt his hand caught; held by dark fingers, supple and strong, the palm turned upward as the husky voice went on with its curious crooning lilt, its patter of words.
"It's under the cloud you stand, my fine gentleman; the cloud of a lie ... but it clears ... it clears.... There's a far-off journey and castle walls ... and love all the time—hidden—by your side...."
She bent her head lower, tracing the lines with a forefinger stiff with a broad gold ring. The light of the flares fell on her bare neck and the bright Paisley shawl, crossed on her full bosom.