"
"With--your--son?"
"Yes, sir; if you don't know how to keep your
mistress when you've got her, you can't complain
if other men take her. My son has blood in his
veins, not milk and water; he comes of the
Romany folk."
"Ah, you are a gipsy! Zita has gone back to
her own people, then?"
She looked at him in amazed contempt. Apparently,
these Christians had not even manhood
enough to be angry when they were insulted.
"What sort of stuff are you made of, that she
should stay with you? Our women may lend
themselves to you a bit for a girl's fancy, or if you
pay them well; but the Romany blood comes back
to the Romany folk."
The Gadfly's face remained as cold and steady
as before.
"Has she gone away with a gipsy camp, or
merely to live with your son?"
The woman burst out laughing.
"Do you think of following her and trying to
win her back? It's too late, sir; you should have
thought of that before!"
"No; I only want to know the truth, if you will
tell it to me.
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