The old, panting, unrealized, tempestuous longing was gone.

She was as one who saw danger and faced it, who had a fight to make and would make it.
What would happen if she told this man that she was a Gipsy--the daughter of a Gipsy ruler, which was no more than being head of a clan of the world's transients, the leader of the world's nomads.

Money--her father had that, at least--much money; got in ways that could not bear the light at times, yet, as the world counts things, not dishonestly; for more than one great minister in a notable country in Europe had commissioned him, more than one ruler and crowned head had used him when "there was trouble in the Balkans," or the "sick man of Europe" was worse, or the Russian Bear came prowling.

His service had ever been secret service, when he lived the life of the caravan and the open highway.

He had no stable place among the men of all nations, and yet secret rites and mysteries and a language which was known from Bokhara to Wandsworth, and from Waikiki to Valparaiso, gave him dignity of a kind, clothed him with importance.
Yet she wanted to tell this man beside her the whole truth, and see what he would do.