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Miss Daphne Wing buried her perfect chin deeper in her hands, and said meditatively: "Yes; I rather thought that, too; of course I could do either now. But, you see, I really don't care for men who are not distinguished. I'm sure I shall only fall in love with a really distinguished man. That's what you did isn't it? so you MUST understand. I think Mr. Fiorsen is wonderfully distinguished."
Then in the hedge, whence the boys had bolted down, a man reared himself above the lane, and came striding along toward her. He jumped down the bank, among the birch-trees. And she saw it was Fiorsen panting, dishevelled, pale with heat. He must have followed her, and climbed straight up the hillside from the path she had come along in the bottom, before crossing the stream.
Living with Fiorsen was opening her eyes to much beside mere knowledge of "man's nature"; with her perhaps fatal receptivity, she was already soaking up the atmosphere of his philosophy. He was always in revolt against accepting things because he was expected to; but, like most executant artists, he was no reasoner, just a mere instinctive kicker against the pricks.
Then he gave me one of his little bows; and off they went, she as pleased as Punch. I really was sorry for him." Gyp said quietly: "Ah! you needn't have been, Auntie; he'll always be able to be sorry for himself." A little shocked at her niece's cynicism, Aunt Rosamund was silent. The poor lady had not lived with Fiorsen!
And turning her head away again, she picked a large walnut out of her cake and put it in her mouth. "Are you coming to see my studio? I've got it rather nice and new. I'm making twenty-five a week; my next engagement, I'm going to get thirty. I should like Mrs. Fiorsen to know Oh, I forgot; you don't like me to speak of her! Why not? I wish you'd tell me!"
Fiorsen said hoarsely: "You do not love me. If you loved me, I should feel it through your lips. I should see it in your eyes. Oh, love me, Gyp! You shall!" But to say to Love: "Stand and deliver!" was not the way to touch Gyp. It seemed to her mere ill-bred stupidity. She froze against him in soul, all the more that she yielded her body.
Daphne Wing opened her eyes and said: "Oh! Mrs. Fiorsen, I feel so weak. And I feel much more lonely now. There's nothing anywhere." Gyp got up; she felt herself being carried into the mood of the girl's heart, and was afraid it would be seen. Daphne Wing went on: "Do you know, when nurse said she'd brought a visitor, I thought it was him; but I'm glad now.
It makes you look rather like Mephistopheles, I think." Fiorsen stared fixedly at that perfectly shaped face, where a faint, underdone pink mingled with the fairness of the skin. Was she mocking him? Impossible! She looked too matter of fact. "Where do you live now?" he said. "I'm on my own, in a studio. You can come and see it, if you like." "With pleasure." "Only, you'd better understand.
From the programme Fiorsen read, "Ophelia's last dance," and again he grinned.
The girl shook her head, and, with a sudden movement, slipped her arm out of this madman's and dived away like a swallow through the pavement traffic. Fiorsen stood still and laughed with his head thrown back. The second time to-day. SHE had slipped from his grasp. Passers looked at him, amazed. The ugly devils! And with a grimace, he turned out of Piccadilly, past St.
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