'As to the Romany brown,' said he, 'a little soap would often make a change in the best Romany brown--ducal or other.' 'Why, look at his neck,' said Sinfi, turning down my neckerchief; 'is that sunburn, or is it Romany brown, I should like to know?' 'I assure you,' said the speaker, still addressing her in the same grave, measured voice, 'that the Romanies have no idea what a little soap can do with the Romany brown.' 'Do you mean to say,' cried Sinfi, now entirely losing her temper (for on the subject of Romany cleanliness she, the most cleanly of women, was keenly sensitive)--'do you mean to say as the Romany dials an' the Romany dries don't wash theirselves? I know what you fine Gorgios _do_ say,--you're allus a-tellin' lies about us Romanies. Brother,' she cried, turning now to me in a great fury, 'I'm a duke's chavi, an' mustn't fight no mumply Gorgios; why don't _you_ take an' make his bed for him?' And certainly the man's supercilious impertinence was beginning to irritate me. 'I should advise you to withdraw that about the soap,' I said quietly, looking at him. 'Oh! and if I don't?' 'Why, then I suppose I must do as my sister bids,' said I. 'I must make your bed,' pointing to the grass beneath his feet. 'But I think it only fair to tell you that I am somewhat of a fighting man, which you probably are not.' 'You mean...?' said he (turning round menacingly, but with no more notion of how to use his fists than a lobster). 'I mean that we should not be fighting on equal terms,' I said. 'In other words,' said he, 'you mean...?' and he came nearer. 'In other words, I mean that, judging from the way in which you are advancing towards me now, the result of such an encounter might not tend to the honour and glory of the British artist in Wales.' 'But,' said he, 'you are no Gypsy. Who are you?' 'My name is Henry Aylwin,' said I; 'and I must ask you to withdraw your words about the virtues of soap, as my sister objects to them.' 'What?' cried he, losing for the first time his matchless _sang-froid_. 'Henry Aylwin?' Then he looked at me in silent amazement, while an expression of the deepest humorous enjoyment overspread his features, making them positively shine as though oiled. Finally, he burst into a loud laugh, that was all the more irritating from the manifest effort he made to restrain it. 'Did I hear His Majesty of Gypsydom aright?' he said, as soon as his hilarity allowed him to speak. 'Is the humble bed of a mere painter to be made for him by the representative of the proud Aylwins, the genteel Aylwins, the heir-presumptive Aylwins--the most respectable branch of a most respectable family, which, alas! has its ungenteel, its bohemian, its vulgar offshoots? Did I hear His Majesty of Gypsydom aright?' He leant against a tree, and gave utterance to peal after peal of laughter. I advanced with rapidly rising anger, but his hilarity had so overmastered him that he did not heed it.