Chaldea gathered herself up with the spring of a tigress, and in a moment was at his elbow with her face black with rage. Her tears had vanished and with them went her softer mood. "You--you reject me," she said in grating tones, and shaking from head to foot as she gripped his shoulder. "Take away your hand," commanded Lambert sharply, and when she recoiled a pace he faced her squarely. "You must have been drinking," he declared, hoping to insult her into common sense. "What would Kara say if--" "I don't want Kara. I want you," interrupted Chaldea, her breast heaving, and looking sullenly wrathful. "Then you can't have me. Why should you think of me in this silly way? We were very good friends, and now you have spoiled everything. I can never have you to sit for me again." Chaldea's lip drooped. "Never again? Never again?" "No. It is impossible, since you have chosen to act in this way. Come, you silly girl, be sensible, and--" "Silly girl! Oh, yes, silly girl," flashed out Chaldea. "And what is she?" "She?" Lambert stiffened himself. "What do you mean?" "I mean the Gentile lady. I was under the window this afternoon. I heard all you were talking about." The man stepped back a pace and clenched his hands. "You--listened?" he asked slowly, and with a very white face. Chaldea nodded with a triumphant smile. "Avali! And why not? You have no right to love another man's romi." "I do not love her," began Lambert, and then checked himself, as he really could not discuss so delicate a matter with this wildcat. "Why did you listen, may I ask?" he demanded, passing his tongue over his dry lips. "Because I love you, and love is jealous." Lambert restrained himself by a violent effort from shaking her. "You are talking nonsense," he declared with enforced calmness. "And it is ridiculous for you to love a man who does not care in the least for you." "It will come--I can wait," insisted Chaldea sullenly. "If you wait until Doomsday it will make no difference. I don't love you, and I have never given you any reason to think so." "Chee-chee!" bantered the girl. "Is that because I am not a raclan?" "A raclan?" "A married Gentile lady, that is. You love her?" "I--I--see, here, Chaldea, I am not going to talk over such things with you, as my affairs are not your business." "They are the business of the Gorgious female's rom." "Rom? Her husband, you mean. What do you know of--" "I know that the Gentle Pine is really one of us," interrupted the girl quickly. "Ishmael Hearne is his name." "Sir Hubert Pine?" "Ishmael Hearne," insisted Chaldea pertly. "He comes to the fire of the Gentle Romany when he wearies of your Gorgious flesh-pots." "Pine a gypsy," muttered Lambert, and the memory of that dark, lean, Eastern face impressed him with the belief that what the girl said was true. "Avali. A true son of the road. He is here." "Here?" Lambert started violently. "What do you mean?"