'You have a familiar spirit. Tell me what she thinks about me; will you?'
The witch threw up a handful of sweet pungent dust into the air, and made another slow round about the janissary.
'Neither black nor white,'—she said oracularly, 'neither yellow nor blue; neither pea-green nor delicate mouse grey.'
'I?' said Stuart. 'Or what?'
'Either. Both.'
The janissary laughed somewhat uneasily. Just then a knight, extremely well got up in the habiliments of the 13th century, stepped near and accosted the witch in a confidential tone.
'Everybody here, I suppose, is known to you. Pray who is that very handsome, very décolletée, lady from the court of Charles the Second? Upon my word! she does it well.'
'That is Miss Fisher.'
'Well, if women knew!'—said the knight slowly. It was evident he thought himself speaking to safe ears, probably not handsome enough to be displayed. 'If they knew!' he repeated. 'Does she not do it well?'
'Does she?' said the witch. 'I was not in England just then.'