"Kismet!" he said aloud, and he rose from the chair to go to the violin,
but as he did so the door opened and Ingolby entered.
"Oh, you're here, and longing to get at it," he said pleasantly.
He had seen the look in the eyes of the Romany as he entered, and noted
which way his footsteps were tending. "Well, we needn't lose any time,
but will you have a drink and a smoke first?" he added.
He threw his hat in a corner, and opened a spirittable where shone a half
dozen cut-glass, tumblers and several well-filled bottles, while boxes of
cigars and cigarettes flanked them. It was the height of modern luxury
imported from New York, and Jethro eyed it with envious inward comment.
The Gorgio had the world on his key-chain! Every door would open to
him--that was written on his face--unless Fate stepped in and closed all
doors!
The door of Fleda's heart had already been opened, but he had not yet
made his bed in it, and there was still time to help Fate, if her mystic
finger beckoned.
Jethro nodded in response to Ingolby's invitation to drink. "But I do not
drink much when I play," he remarked. "There's enough liquor in the head
when the fiddle's in the hand. 'Dadia', I do not need the spirit to make
the pulses go!"
"As little as you like then, if you'll only play as well as you did this
afternoon," Ingolby said cheerily.
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