“Chaldea.”

“Nonsense.  That is the name of the country.”

“I never denied that, my dear girl.  But Chaldea was born in the country whence she takes her name.  Down Mesopotamia way, I believe.  These gypsies wander far and wide, you know.  She’s very pretty, and has the temper of the foul fiend himself.  Only Kara can keep her in order.”

“Who is Kara?”

“A Servian gypsy who plays the fiddle like an angel.  He’s a crooked-backed, black-faced, hairy ape of a dwarf, but highly popular on account of his music.  Also, he’s crazy about Chaldea, and loves her to distraction.”

“Does she love him?” Miss Greeby asked in her direct fashion.

“No,” replied Lambert, coloring under his tan, and closed his lips firmly.  He was a very presentable figure of a man, as he walked beside the unusually tall woman.  His face was undeniably handsome in a fair Saxon fashion, and his eyes were as blue as those of Miss Greeby herself, while his complexion was much more delicate.  In fact, she considered that it was much too good a complexion for one of the male sex, but admitted inwardly that its possessor was anything but effeminate, when he had such a heavy jaw, such a firm chin, and such set lips.  Lambert, indeed, at first sight did indeed look so amiable, as to appear for the moment quite weak; but danger always stiffened him into a dangerous adversary, and his face when aroused was most unpleasantly fierce.  He walked with a military swing, his shoulders well set back and his head crested like that of a striking serpent.  A rough and warlike life would have brought out his best points of endurance, capability to plan and strike quickly, and iron decision; but the want of opportunity and the enervating influences of civilized existence, made him a man of possibilities.  When time, and place, and chance offered he could act the hero with the best; but lacking these things he remained innocuous like gunpowder which has no spark to fire it.

Thinking of these things, Miss Greeby abandoned the subject of Chaldea, and of her possible love for Lambert, and exclaimed impulsively, “Why don’t you chuck civilization and strike the out-trail?”

“Why should I?” he asked, unmoved, and rather surprised by the change of the subject.  “I’m quite comfortable here.”

“Too comfortable,” she retorted with emphasis.  “This loafing life of just-enough-to-live-on doesn’t give you a chance to play the man.  Go out and fight and colonize and prove your qualities.”

Lambert’s color rose again, and his eyes sparkled.  “I would if the chance—­”

“Ah, bah, Hercules and Omphale!” interrupted his companion.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” retorted Miss Greeby, who guessed that he knew what she meant very well.  His quick flush showed her how he resented this classical allusion to Agnes Pine.  “You’d carry her off if you were a man.”

“Chaldea?” asked Lambert, wilfully misunderstanding her meaning.