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Updated: September 18, 2025
It salved a conscience on which that fellow's figure in the doorway weighed; besides, it was necessary, lest Fiorsen should go to the police. The rest must wait till he had talked with Gyp. There was much to do, and it was late before they dined, and not till Markey had withdrawn could they begin their talk.
When he came in sight of a black shape lying on the bank, he suffered a moment of intense agony, for he thought it was just a dark garment thrown away. Then he saw it move, and, holding up his hand for Markey to stand still, walked on alone, tiptoeing in the grass, his heart swelling with a sort of rapture.
Life was so easy there, and so difficult outside. Betty's knock forced her to get out at last, and let her in with tea and the message. Would Miss Gyp please to go down when she was ready? Winton was staggered. With a glance at Gyp's vanishing figure, he said curtly to Markey, "Where have you put this gentleman?" But the use of the word "this" was the only trace he showed of his emotions.
There at the door was Markey, holding in his hand some cards. Winton scanned them. "Lady Summerhay; Mr. Bryan Summerhay. I said, 'Not at home, sir." Winton nodded. "Well?" "Nothing at present. You have had no lunch, sir." "What time is it?" "Four o'clock." "Bring in my fur coat and the port, and make the fire up. I want any news there is." Markey nodded.
A man, more silent than anything on earth, with the soft, quick, dark eyes of a woodcock and a long, greenish, knitted waistcoat, black cutaway, and tight trousers strapped over his boots, opened the door. "I shan't go out again, Markey. Mrs. Markey must give me some dinner. Anything'll do."
He received the news that his daughter was alone and free from that fellow with something like delight. Where should he dine her? Mrs. Markey was on her holiday. Why not Blafard's? Quiet -small rooms not too respectable quite fairly cool good things to eat. Yes; Blafard's!
And, since Gyp's natural sense of the ludicrous was extreme, she and her aunt could rarely talk about anything without going into fits of laughter. Winton had his first really bad attack of gout when Gyp was twenty-two, and, terrified lest he might not be able to sit a horse in time for the opening meets, he went off with her and Markey to Wiesbaden.
Close to the open windows where Markey had placed two hydrangea plants just bought on his own responsibility, in token of silent satisfaction Gyp began. She kept nothing back, recounting the whole miserable fiasco of her marriage. When she came to Daphne Wing and her discovery in the music-room, she could see the glowing end of her father's cigar move convulsively.
Markey, summoned by telegram, had arrived; and the whole inn was taken lest there should be any noise to disturb her. At five o'clock, Winton was summoned downstairs to the little so-called reading-room. A tall woman was standing at the window, shading her eyes with the back of a gloved hand.
She took his hand, put it to her cheek, and got out. He said quietly: "Do you want the dogs?" "Yes oh, yes! He doesn't care for them." "All right. There'll be time to get you in some things for the night after I come back. I shan't run any risks to-day. Make Mrs. Markey give you tea."
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