was--the--the TECHNIQUE! A desperate desire
to laugh seized her. And he saw it--oh, yes, he saw it! He gave her
one look, passed that same hand over his smooth face, and--behold!--it
showed as before, unmortified, unconscious. A deadly little man!

When they returned to the salon, as it was called, Miss Daphne Wing in a
black kimono, whence her face and arms emerged more like alabaster than
ever, was sitting on a divan beside Fiorsen. She rose at once and came
across to Gyp.

"Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen"--why did everything she said begin with "Oh"--"isn't
this room lovely? It's perfect for dancing. I only brought cream, and
flame-colour; they go so beautifully with black."

She threw back her kimono for Gyp to inspect her dress--a girdled
cream-coloured shift, which made her ivory arms and neck seem more than
ever dazzling; and her mouth opened, as if for a sugar-plum of praise.
Then, lowering her voice, she murmured:

"Do you know, I'm rather afraid of Count Rosek."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know; he's so critical, and smooth, and he comes up so
quietly. I do think your husband plays wonderfully. Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen,
you are beautiful, aren't you?" Gyp laughed. "What would you like me to
dance first? A waltz of Chopin's?"

"Yes; I love Chopin."

"Then I shall. I shall dance exactly what you like, because I do admire
you, and I'm sure you're awfully sweet. Oh, yes; you are; I can see
that! And I think your husband's awfully in love with you. I should be,
if I were a man. You know, I've been studying five years, and I haven't
come out yet. But now Count Rosek's going to back me, I expect it'll be
very soon. Will you come to my first night? Mother says I've got to
be awfully careful. She only let me come this evening because you were
going to be here. 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. Miss Daphne Wing was standing
with her finger-tips joined at her breast--a perfect statue of ebony and
palest wax. Suddenly she flung away the black kimono. A thrill swept
Gyp from head to foot. She COULD dance--that common little girl! Every
movement of her round, sinuous body, of her bare limbs, ha