ertain equanimity; in the second week they
became ardent; in the third, they were fitful--now beginning to look
forward, now moody and dejected; and they were shorter. During this
third week Aunt Rosamund joined them. The good lady had become a staunch
supporter of Gyp's new existence, which, in her view, served Fiorsen
right. Why should the poor child's life be loveless? She had a
definitely low opinion of men, and a lower of the state of the
marriage-laws; in her view, any woman who struck a blow in that direction
was something of a heroine. And she was oblivious of the fact that Gyp
was quite guiltless of the desire to strike a blow against the
marriage-laws, or anything else. Aunt Rosamund's aristocratic and
rebellious blood boiled with hatred of what she called the "stuffy
people" who still held that women were men's property. It had made her
specially careful never to put herself in that position.

She had brought Gyp a piece of news.

"I was walking down Bond Street past that tea-and-tart shop, my dear--you
know, where they have those special coffee-creams, and who should come
out of it but Miss Daphne Wing and our friend Fiorsen; and pretty hangdog
he looked. He came up to me, with his little lady watching him like a
lynx. Really, my dear, I was rather sorry for him; he'd got that hungry
look of his; she'd been doing all the eating, I'm sure. He asked me how
you were. I told him, 'Very well.'

"'When you see her,' he said, 'tell her I haven't forgotten her, and
never shall. But she was quite right; this is the sort of lady that I'm
fit for.' And the way he looked at that girl made me feel quite
uncomfortable. Then he gave me one of his little bows; and off they
went, she as pleased as Punch. I really was sorry for him."

Gyp said quietly:

"Ah! you needn't have been, Auntie; he'll always be able to be sorry for
himself."

A little shocked at her niece's cynicism, Aunt Rosamund was silent. The
poor lady had not lived with Fiorsen!

That same afternoon, Gyp was sitting in a shelter on the common, a book
on her knee--thinking her one long thought: 'To-day is Thursday--Monday
week! Eleven days--still!'--when three figures came slowly toward her, a
man, a woman, and what should have been a dog. English love of beauty
and the rights of man had forced its nose back, deprived it of half its
ears, and all but three inches or so of tail. It had asthma--and waddled
in disillusionment. A voice said