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She was careful not to suggest that he should go away without her, knowing his perversity. But when he proposed that she should come to Ostend with him and Rosek, she answered, after seeming deliberation, that she thought she had better not she would rather stay at home quite quietly; but he must certainly go and get a good holiday.
They would both lie Rosek, because he obviously saw the mistaken line of his first attack; Fiorsen, because his temperament did not permit him to suffer by speaking the truth. Having set herself to endure, she found she must live in the moment, never think of the future, never think much of anything. Fortunately, nothing so conduces to vacuity as a baby. She gave herself up to it with desperation.
While they were ordering, she was safe, for Rosek was a gourmet, and the girl would certainly be hungry; but after that, she knew that nothing could save her being seen Rosek would mark down every woman in the room! Should she pretend to feel faint and slip out into the hotel? Or let Bryan know? Or sit there laughing and talking, eating and drinking, as if nothing were behind her?
To count herself a martyr would be silly! Her malaise, successfully concealed, was deeper of the spirit; the subtle utter discouragement of one who has done for herself, clipped her own wings. As for Rosek, she treated him as if that little scene had never taken place. The idea of appealing to her husband in a difficulty was gone for ever since the night he came home drunk.
I did so want to see you again. Count Rosek said he thought I might. It's all fixed for my coming-out. Oh, how do you do?" And with lips and eyes opening at Winton, she sat down in the chair he placed for her. Gyp, watching his expression, felt inclined to laugh. Dad, and Daphne Wing! And the poor girl so evidently anxious to make a good impression!
Why didn't I say I hate dancing?" Just then a bell sounded; people began hurrying away. The girl came up to Rosek. "Miss Daphne Wing Mrs. Fiorsen." Gyp put out her hand with a smile this girl was certainly a picture. Miss Daphne Wing smiled, too, and said, with the intonation of those who have been carefully corrected of an accent: "Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, how beautifully your husband plays doesn't he?"
When, on that first real summer day, the maid had brought Rosek up to him, he had been lying a long time on his back, dreamily watching the smoke from his cigarette and four flies waltzing in the sunlight that filtered through the green sun-blinds. This hour, before he rose, was his creative moment, when he could best see the form of music and feel inspiration for its rendering.
Would you like me to begin?" She slid across to Rosek, and Gyp heard her say: "Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen wants me to begin; a Chopin waltz, please. The one that goes like this." Rosek went to the piano, the little dancer to the centre of the room. Gyp sat down beside Fiorsen. Rosek began playing, his eyes fixed on the girl, and his mouth loosened from compression in a sweetish smile.
"No; tell me, please." Rosek shrugged his shoulders. "There is a man called Wagge, an undertaker the father of someone you know " "Daphne Wing?" "Yes. A child is coming. They have made her tell. It means the cancelling of her engagements, of course and other things." Gyp uttered a little laugh; then she said slowly: "Can you tell me, please, what this Mr. Wagge can do?"
Gyp had locked up all brandy and violins; she could control him so long as he was tamed by his own weakness. But she passed some very bitter hours before she sent for her baby, Betty, and the dogs, and definitely took up life in her little house again. His debts had been paid, including the thousand pounds to Rosek, and the losses of Daphne Wing.
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