want."

"Fool, a woman is only a woman. They are all alike," roared the gipsy.

"Not to me!" answered Mehmet Ali quietly. "I shall not say another
word."

"Fool, fool, fool," roared the gipsy as he still tried to catch
Fanutza's eye. It was already too dark.

"Not to me." The Tartar's words echoed in the girl's heart. "Not to me."
Twenty years he had worked to save such a great sum. And now he refused
an equal amount and was willing to pay it all for her. Would Stan have
done that? Would anybody else have done that? Why should she be
compelled to marry whom her father chose when men were willing to pay a
hundred gold pieces for her? The old women of the camp had taught her to
cook and to mend and to wash and to weave. She must know all that to be
worthy of Stan, they had told her. And here was a man who did not know
whether she knew any of these things who staked his life for her and
offered a hundred gold pieces in the bargain! Twenty years of savings.
Twenty years of work. It was not every day one met such a man. Surely,
with one strong push of his arms he could throw her father overboard. He
did not do it because he did not want to hurt her feelings. And as the
silence continued Fanutza thought her father, too, was a fine man. It
was fine of him to offer a hundred gold pieces for her liberty. That
was in itself a great thing. But did he do it only for her sake or
wasn't it because of Stan, because of himself? And as she thought again
of Mehmet's "Not to me," she remembered the fierce bitterness in her
father's voice when he had yelled, "All women are alike." That was not
true. If it were true why would Mehmet Ali want her and her only after