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"Please bring up some lunch for Mr. Fiorsen." He heard the stout woman sniff as she went out. She was a part of his ostracism. And, with sudden rage, he said: "What do you want for a husband a bourgeois who would die if he missed his lunch?" Gyp turned round to him and held out her cheque-book. "I don't in the least mind about meals; but I do about this." He read on the counterfoil: "Messrs.
Sure enough, he came; and Winton quietly raising his hand to the salute passed on through the drawing-room window. He went quickly into the hall, listened a second, and opened the dining-room door. Fiorsen was pacing up and down, pale and restless. He came to a standstill and stared haggardly at Winton, who said: "How are you? Gyp not in?" "No."
Swallowing down whatever his feeling may have been, he said: "Very well, my child; I'll come up with you." Putting her into the cab in London, he asked: "Have you still got your key of Bury Street? Good! Remember, Gyp any time day or night there it is for you." She had wired to Fiorsen from Mildenham that she was coming, and she reached home soon after three.
When she had slowly sucked up that beverage, prodding the slice of tangerine with her straws, they went out and took a cab. On that journey to her studio, Fiorsen tried to possess himself of her hand, but, folding her arms across her chest, she said quietly: "It's very bad manners to take advantage of cabs." And, withdrawing sullenly into his corner, he watched her askance.
Her face was deep pink, and so was her neck, which ran V-shaped down into the folds of her kimono. Her eyes, round as saucers, met Gyp's, fell, met them again. She said: "Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, I am glad! I really am. I wanted you so much to see my room do you like it? How DID you know where I was?" She looked down and added: "I think I'd better tell you. Mr.
She did not quicken her steps, and to the first taxicab driver that passed she made a sign, and saying: "Bury Street quick!" got in. She saw Fiorsen rush forward, too late to stop her. He threw up his hand and stood still, his face deadly white under his broad-brimmed hat. She was far too angry and upset to care.
A faint grin slowly settled in his beard, but his eyes were startled. Fiorsen kissed the back of his own hand. "To this old Pantaloon you come to give your heart. Ho what a lover!" Gyp saw the old man quiver; she sprang up and cried: "You brute!" Fiorsen ran forward, stretching out his arms toward Monsieur Harmost, as if to take him by the throat. The old man drew himself up.
Fiorsen, who had begun to pace the room, stopped, and said with agitation: "Major Winton, your daughter is the most beautiful thing on earth. I love her desperately. I am a man with a future, though you may not think it. I have what future I like in my art if only I can marry her. I have a little money, too not much; but in my violin there is all the fortune she can want."
Fiorsen, who had leaped out of bed, put his hand to his head. The cursed fellow! Cursed be every one of them the father and the girl, Rosek and all the other sharks! He went out on to the landing. The house was quite still below. Rosek had gone good riddance! He called, "Gyp!" No answer. He went into her room. Its superlative daintiness struck his fancy. A scent of cyclamen!
Fiorsen could hear a woman's acid voice, a man's, rather hoarse and greasy, the sound of a smacking kiss. And, with a vicious shrug, he stood at bay. Trapped! The little devil! The little dovelike devil!
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