Chaldea's eyes flashed and her cheeks grew crimson. "Not at all," she
said contemptuously. "I have no rom."

"Ah, your are not married?"

"No," declared Chaldea curtly, and shot a swift glance at Lambert.

"She is waiting for the fairy prince," said that young gentleman
smiling. "And he is coming to this camp almost immediately."

"Ishmael Hearne is coming," replied the gypsy. "But he is no rom of
mine, and never will be."

"Who is he, then?" asked Lambert carelessly.

"One of the great Romany."

Miss Greeby remembered that Mother Cockleshell had also spoken of the
expected arrival at the camp in these terms. "A kind of king?" she
asked.

Chaldea laughed satirically. "Yes; a kind of king," she assented; then
turned her back rudely on the speaker and addressed Lambert: "I can't
come, rye. Ishmael will want to see me. I must wait."

"What a nuisance," said Lambert, looking annoyed. "Fancy, Clara. I have
an idea of painting these two as Beauty and the Beast, or perhaps as
Esmeralda and Quasimodo. I want them to come to the cottage and sit now,
but they will wait for this confounded Ishmael."