"I work on Sundays, the same as any other day," he said.
"It's wicked to work on Sunday," she said.
"Or any other time," he added, smiling.
"Gipsies don't do much work," she admitted, smiling too.
"I think I'll turn gipsy."
"You'll go a long way before you see gipsies your colour," she said, glancing at his fresh face and light brown hair.
He held out his hand suddenly. "Look here! Tell my fortune, will you?"
She took him by the wrist and gazed at his palm earnestly for some minutes seeming to feel his pulse all the while.
"Good," she said, "very good," and dropping his hand, moved to the door.
He looked at her curiously, the fun had faded from her face, the liquid eyes seemed heavily shaded with sorrow. He stepped after her.