"You will never gain your wish." Miss Greeby looked angry.

"Bah! Your fortune-telling is all rubbish, as I have always thought," and she moved away.
"Tell me that in six months," screamed the old woman after her.
"Why six months ?" demanded the other, pausing.
"Ah, that's a dark saying," scoffed the gypsy.

"Call it seven, my hopeful-for-what-you-won't-get, like the cat after the cream, for seven's a sacred number, and the spell is set." "Gypsy jargon, gypsy lies," muttered Miss Greeby, tossing her ruddy mane.

"I don't believe a word.

Tell me--" "There's no time to say more," interrupted Mother Cockleshell rudely, for, having secured her money, she did not think it worth while to be polite, especially in the face of her visitor's scepticism.