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He must come and see all over. Hooking her arm into his, and talking all the time, she took him up-stairs and down, and out into the garden, to the studio, or music-room, at the end, which had an entrance to itself on to a back lane. This room had been the great attraction. Fiorsen could practice there in peace. Winton went along with her very quietly, making a shrewd comment now and then.
The thought that Fiorsen should have picked her out of all that audience for remembrance subtly flattered her vanity. She lost her ruffled feeling. Though her father thought his dress awful, it was really rather becoming. He would not have looked as well in proper English clothes.
Rosek answered, a little too steadily: "I did not, my friend." "What! You did. What was your game? You never do anything without a game. You know you did. Come; what was your game?" "You like pleasure, I believe." Fiorsen said violently: "Look here: I have done with your friendship you are no friend to me. I have never really known you, and I should not wish to. It is finished. Leave me in peace."
And, at times, she felt as if she would be glad to die. Life had defrauded her, or she had defrauded herself of life. Was it really only a year since that glorious day's hunting when Dad and she, and the young man with the clear eyes and the irrepressible smile, had slipped away with the hounds ahead of all the field the fatal day Fiorsen descended from the clouds and asked for her?
He carefully kept his eyes to this side and to that, as if examining the flowers, but noted all the same that Fiorsen had receded from the window. Rapid thought told him that the fellow would come back there to see if he were gone, and he placed himself before a rose-bush, where, at that reappearance, he could make a sign of recognition.
When Aunt Rosamund had taken a somewhat sudden leave, Gyp stood at the window of her drawing-room with the mask off her face. Fiorsen came up, put his arm round her from behind, and said with a fierce sigh: "Are they coming often these excellent people?" Gyp drew back from him against the wall. "If you love me, why do you try to hurt the people who love me too?" "Because I am jealous.
At those naive words, a painful wish to laugh seized on Gyp, making her shiver from head to foot. Daphne Wing saw it, and went on: "I know I know it's awful; but I do and now he he " Her quiet but really dreadful sobbing broke out again. And again Gyp began stroking and stroking her shoulder. "And I have been so awful to you! Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, do forgive me, please!"
After his, "So he's gone to Ostend?" and his thought: 'He would! they never alluded to Fiorsen, but talked of horses, of Mildenham it seemed to Gyp years since she had been there of her childish escapades. And, looking at him quizzically, she asked: "What were you like as a boy, Dad? Aunt Rosamund says that you used to get into white rages when nobody could go near you.
She wanted her back, to go about with and make much of, as before. And her well-bred drawl did not quite disguise this feeling. Gyp could detect Fiorsen subtly mimicking that drawl; and her ears began to burn. The puppies afforded a diversion their points, noses, boldness, and food, held the danger in abeyance for some minutes. Then the mimicry began again.
Oh, isn't that Irish? But one can think anybody a rotter without hating them, can't one?" Fiorsen bit his lips. "So you think me a 'rotter'?" Daphne Wing's eyes grew rounder. "But aren't you? You couldn't be anything else could you? with the sort of things you did." "And yet you don't mind having tea with me?"
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