“Because I get so tired of every-day dishes,” growled Lord Garvington.  “These cooks have no invention.  I wish I’d lived in Rome when they had those banquets you read of in Gibbon.”

“Did he write a book on cookery?” asked Lady Garvington very naturally.

“No.  He turned out a lot of dull stuff about wars and migrations of tribes:  you are silly, Jane.”

“What’s that about migration of tribes?” asked Mrs. Belgrove, who was in a good humor, as she had won largely at bridge.  “You don’t mean those dear gypsies at Abbot’s Wood do you, Lord Garvington?  I met one of them the other day—­quite a girl and very pretty in a dark way.  She told my fortune, and said that I would come in for a lot of money.  I’m sure I hope so,” sighed Mrs. Belgrove.  “Celestine is so expensive, but no one can fit me like she can.  And she knows it, and takes advantage, the horrid creature.”

“I wish the tribe of gypsies would clear out,” snapped Freddy, standing before the fire and glaring at the company generally.  “I know they’ll break in here and rob.”

“Well,” drawled Silver, who was hovering near, dressed so carefully that he looked more of a foxy, neat bounder than ever.  “I have noticed that some of the brutes have been sneaking round the place.”

Mrs. Belgrove shrieked.  “Oh, how lucky I occupy a bedroom on the third floor.  Just like a little bird in its tiny-weeny nest.  They can’t get at me there, can they, Lord Garvington?”

“They don’t want you,” observed Miss Greeby in her deep voice.  “It’s your diamonds they’d like to get.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Belgrove shrieked again.  “Lock my diamonds up in your strong room, Lord Garvington.  Do! do! do!  To please poor little me,” and she effusively clasped her lean hands, upon which many of the said diamonds glittered.

“I don’t think there is likely to be any trouble with these poor gypsies, Mrs. Belgrove,” remarked Lady Agnes negligently.  “Hubert has told me a great deal about them, and they are really not so bad as people make out.”

“Your husband can’t know anything of such ragtags,” said Miss Greeby, looking at the beautiful, pale face, and wondering if she really had any suspicion that Pine was one of the crew she mentioned.

“Oh, but Hubert does,” answered Lady Agnes innocently.  “He has met many of them when he has been out helping people.  You have no idea, any of you, how good Hubert is,” she added, addressing the company generally.  “He walks on the Embankment sometimes on winter nights and gives the poor creatures money.  And in the country I have often seen him stop to hand a shilling to some tramp in the lanes.”

“A gypsy for choice,” growled Miss Greeby, marvelling that Lady Agnes could not see the resemblance between the tramps’ faces and that of her own husband.  “However, I hope Pine’s darlings won’t come here to rob.  I’ll fight for my jewels, I can promise you.”

One of the men laughed.  “I shouldn’t like to get a blow from your fist.”