e of those indescribable, not unmelodious drawls that one connects
with an unshakable sense of privilege. She, in turn, was very fond of
Gyp; and what passed within her mind, by no means devoid of shrewdness,
as to their real relationship, remained ever discreetly hidden. She was,
so far again as breeding would allow, something of a humanitarian and
rebel, loving horses and dogs, and hating cats, except when they had four
legs. The girl had just that softness which fascinates women who perhaps
might have been happier if they had been born men. Not that Rosamund
Winton was of an aggressive type--she merely had the resolute "catch hold
of your tail, old fellow" spirit so often found in Englishwomen of the
upper classes. A cheery soul, given to long coats and waistcoats,
stocks, and a crutch-handled stick, she--like her brother--had "style,"
but more sense of humour--valuable in musical circles! At her house, the
girl was practically compelled to see fun as well as merit in all those
prodigies, haloed with hair and filled to overflowing with music and
themselves. And, since Gyp's natural sense of the ludicrous was extreme,
she and her aunt could rarely talk about anything without going into fits
of laughter.

Winton had his first really bad attack of gout when Gyp was twenty-two,
and, terrified lest he might not be able to sit a horse in time for the
opening meets, he went off with her and Markey to Wiesbaden. They had
rooms in the Wilhelmstrasse, overlooking the gardens, where leaves were
already turning, that gorgeous September. The cure was long and
obstinate, and Winton badly bored. Gyp fared much better. Attended by
the silent Markey, she rode daily on the Neroberg, chafing at regulations
which reduced her to specified tracks in that majestic wood where the
beeches glowed. Once or even twice a day she went to the concerts in the
Kurhaus, either with her father or alone.

The first time she heard Fiorsen play she was alone. Unlike most
violinists, he was tall and thin, with great pliancy of body and swift
sway of movement. His face was pale, and went strangely with hair and
moustache of a sort of dirt-gold colour, and his thin cheeks with very
broad high cheek-bones had little narrow scraps of whisker. Those little
whiskers seemed to Gyp awful--indeed, he seemed rather awful
altogether--but his playing stirred and swept her in the most uncanny
way. He had evidently remarkable technique; and the emotion,