t hand, he answered:

"Yes; very jolly. My cigar's out, though, and I haven't a match."

Gyp's hand slipped through his arm.

"All these people in love, and so dark and whispery--it makes a sort of
strangeness in the air. Don't you feel it?"

Winton murmured:

"No moon to-night!"

Again they were silent. A puff of wind ruffled the leaves; the night,
for a moment, seemed full of whispering; then the sound of a giggle
jarred out and a girl's voice:

"Oh! Chuck it, 'Arry."

Gyp rose.

"I feel the dew now, Dad. Can we walk on?"

They went along paths, so as not to wet her feet in her thin shoes. And
they talked. The spell was over; the night again but a common London
night; the park a space of parching grass and gravel; the people just
clerks and shop-girls walking out.

VIII

Fiorsen's letters were the source of one long smile to Gyp. He missed
her horribly; if only she were there!--and so forth--blended in
the queerest way with the impression that he was enjoying himself
uncommonly. There were requests for money, and careful omission of any
real account of what he was doing. Out of a balance running rather
low, she sent him remittances; this was her holiday, too, and she could
afford to pay for it. She even sought out a shop where she could sell
jewelry, and, with a certain malicious joy, forwarded him the proceeds.
It would give him and herself another week.

One night she went with Winton to the Octagon, where Daphne Wing was
still performing. Remembering the girl's squeaks of rapture at her
garden, she wrote next day, asking her to lunch and spend a lazy
afternoon under the trees.

The little dancer came with avidity. She was pale, and droopy from the
heat, but happily dressed in Liberty silk, with a plain turn-down straw
hat. They lunched off sweetbreads, ices, and fruit, and then, with
coffee, cigarettes, and plenty of sugar-plums, settled down in the
deepest shade of the garden, Gyp in a low wicker chair, Daphne Wing on
cushions and the grass. Once past the exclamatory stage, she seemed a
great talker, laying bare her little soul with perfect liberality. And
Gyp--excellent listener--enjoyed it, as one enjoys all confidential
revelations of existences very different from one's own, especially when
regarded as a superior being.

"Of course I don't mean to stay at home any longer than I can help; only
it's no good going out into life"--this phrase she often used--"till
you know where you are. I