gge, an undertaker--the father of someone you
know--"

"Daphne Wing?"

"Yes. A child is coming. They have made her tell. It means the
cancelling of her engagements, of course--and other things."

Gyp uttered a little laugh; then she said slowly:

"Can you tell me, please, what this Mr.--Wagge can do?"

Again Rosek shrugged his shoulders.

"He is rabid--a rabid man of his class is dangerous. A lot of money will
be wanted, I should think--some blood, perhaps."

He moved swiftly to her, and said very low:

"Gyp, it is a year since I told you of this. You did not believe me
then. I told you, too, that I loved you. I love you more, now, a hundred
times! Don't move! I am going up to Gustav."

He turned, and Gyp thought he was really going; but he stopped and came
back past the line of the window. The expression of his face was quite
changed, so hungry that, for a moment, she felt sorry for him. And that
must have shown in her face, for he suddenly caught at her, and tried
to kiss her lips; she wrenched back, and he could only reach her throat,
but that he kissed furiously. Letting her go as suddenly, he bent his
head and went out without a look.

Gyp stood wiping his kisses off her throat with the back of her hand,
dumbly, mechanically thinking: "What have I done to be treated like
this? What HAVE I done?" No answer came. And such rage against men
flared up that she just stood there, twisting her garden-gloves in her
hands, and biting the lips he would have kissed. Then, going to her
bureau, she took up her address book and looked for the name: Wing, 88,
Frankland Street, Fulham. Unhooking her little bag from off the back of
the chair, she put her cheque-book into it. Then, taking care to make no
sound, she passed into the hall, caught up her sunshade, and went out,
closing the door without noise.

She walked quickly toward Baker Street. Her gardening-hat was right
enough, but she had come out without gloves, and must go into the first
shop and buy a pair. In the choosing of them, she forgot her emotions
for a minute. Out in the street again, they came back as bitterly as
ever. And the day was so beautiful--the sun bright, the sky blue, the
clouds dazzling white; from the top of her 'bus she could see all its
brilliance. There rose up before her the memory of the man who had
kissed her arm at the first ball. And now--this! But, mixed with her
rage, a sort of unwilling compassion and fellow feeling kept rising for