together with the fawning women,
young and handsome, or old and hideously ugly, seemed altogether alien
to the quiet, tame domestic English landscape. There was something
prehistoric about the scene, and everywhere lurked that sense of
dangerous primeval passions held in enforced check which might burst
forth on the very slightest provocation.

"It's a migrating tribe of Aryans driven to new hunting grounds by
hunger or over-population," said Miss Greeby, for even her unromantic
nature was stirred by the unusual picturesqueness of the scene. "The
sight of these people and the reek of their fires make me feel like a
cave-woman. There is something magnificent about this brutal freedom."

"Very sordid magnificence," replied Lambert, raising his shoulders. "But
I understand your feelings. On occasions we all have the nostalgia of
the primitive life at times, and delight to pass from ease to hardship."

"Well, civilization isn't much catch, so far as I can see," argued his
companion. "It makes men weaklings."

"Certainly not women," he answered, glancing sideways at her Amazonian
figure.

"I agree with you. For some reason, men are going down while women are
going up, both physically and mentally. I wonder what the future of
civilized races will be."

"Here is Mother Cockleshell. Best ask her."

The trio had reached a small tent at the very end of the camp by this
time, snugly set up under a spreading oak and near the banks of a
babbling brook. Their progress had not been interrupted by any claims on
their attention or purses, for a wink from Chaldea had informed her
brother and sister gypsies that the Gentile lady had come to consult the
queen of the tribe. And, like Lord Burleigh's celebrated nod, Chaldea's
wink could convey volumes. At all events, Lambert and his companion were
unmolested, and arrived in due course before the royal palace. A
croaking voice announced that the queen was inside her Arab tent, and
she was crooning some Romany song. Chaldea did not open her mouth, but
simply snapped her fingers twice or thrice rapidly. The woman within
must have had marvellously sharp ears, for she immediately stopped her
incantation--the songs sounded like one--and stepped forth.

"Oh!" said Miss Greeby, stepping back, "I am disappointed."

She had every reason to be after the picturesqueness of the camp in
general, and Chaldea in particular, for Mother Cockleshell looked like a
threadbare pew-opener, or an almshou