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Peeping through the window, she could just see a woman dressed in green, evidently Mrs. Wagge, seated at a table, crying into her handkerchief. At that very moment, too, a low moaning came from the room above. Gyp recoiled; then, making up her mind, she went in and knocked at the room where the woman in green was sitting. After fully half a minute, it was opened, and Mrs. Wagge stood there.
Wagge's face was singular; suspicion, relief, and a sort of craftiness were blended with that furtive admiration which Gyp seemed always to excite in him. "Do I understand that you er " "I came to ask if Daisy would do something for me." Mr. Wagge blew his nose. "You didn't know " he began again.
Wagge, in professional habiliments, was standing there. "Come in; come in," he said. "I was wondering whether perhaps we shouldn't be seeing you after what's transpired." Hanging his tall black hat, craped nearly to the crown, on a knob of the mahogany stand, he said huskily: "I DID think we'd seen the last of that," and opened the dining-room door. "Come in, ma'am.
And she works. Saving a matter of fifteen 'undred a year, I shouldn't be surprised. Why, at my best, the years the influenza was so bad, I never cleared a thousand net. No, she's a success." Mrs. Wagge added: "Have you seen her last photograph the one where she's standing between two hydrangea-tubs? It was her own idea." Mr.
"You may be proud of her," he said; "she is the rising star." Mr. Wagge cleared his throat. "Ow," he said; "ye'es! From a little thing, we thought she had stuff in her. I've come to take a great interest in her work. It's not in my line, but I think she's a sticker; I like to see perseverance. Where you've got that, you've got half the battle of success.
I never conceal my actions." Gyp murmured: "It's a question of atmosphere, isn't it?" Mr. Wagge shook his head. "No; I don't hold with incense we're not 'Igh Church. But how are YOU, ma'am? We often speak of you. You're looking well." His face had become a dusky orange, and Mrs. Wagge's the colour of a doubtful beetroot.
Oh, don't let Duckie sit against your pretty frock! Come, Duckie!" But Duckie did not move, resting his back against Gyp's shin-bones. Mr. Wagge, whose tongue had been passing over a mouth which she saw to its full advantage for the first time, said abruptly: "You 'aven't come to live here, 'ave you?" "Oh no! I'm only with my father for the baths." "Ah, I thought not, never havin' seen you.
A slave like her own husband to his want of a wife who did not love him. A slave like her father had been still was, to a memory. And watching the sunlight on the bracken, Gyp thought: 'Love! Keep far from me. I don't want you. I shall never want you! Every morning that week she made her way to the cottage, and every morning had to pass through the hands of Mrs. Wagge.
About the father's name, do you think I might say the late Mr. Joseph Wing, this once? You see, it never was alive, and I must put something if they're not to guess the truth, and that I couldn't bear; Mr. Wagge would be so distressed. It's in his own line, you see. Oh, it is upsetting!" Gyp murmured desperately: "Oh! yes, anything."
Wagge mumbled suddenly: "I'm always glad to see her when she takes a run down in a car. But I've come here for quiet after the life I've led, and I don't want to think about it, especially before you, ma'am. I don't that's a fact." A silence followed, during which Mr. and Mrs. Wagge looked at their feet, and Gyp looked at the dog. "Ah! here you are!"
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