‘But you have not done with the lady yet, I hope?’ cried Mrs. Webber. ‘You have told her nothing.’
‘My gorgeous angel,’ answered the woman, ‘I have told the sorrowful lady all I know, and what I know is the truth.’
‘What’s her country, mother?’ inquired Mr. Stinton.
She eyed him sideways with a cat-like look, but made no reply.
‘Tell us, my good woman, in what country you think her home is?’ said Mr. Webber.
‘Who can tell? I will not answer that,’ said the gipsy. ‘There are many countries for the likes of such as the sorrowful lady to have a home in. There is Russia and Spain and ’Olland. In them countries are plenty of English gorgios. Where her home may be I cannot tell, for the dook is silent.’
‘What Dook is she talking of?’ exclaimed Sir Frederick Thompson.
‘Oh, sweet gentleman,’ she said, turning upon him again, ‘the dook is the spirit that enables me to tell dukkeripen.’
‘Hearing you speak of Spain, mother, I thought you might have meant the Dook of Wellington,’ said Sir Frederick.
Mrs. Webber looked at her husband with a face of vexation, as though irritated by the vulgar jokes of the little city gentleman at such a moment of romance.