galement, was letting her clear eyes
rest, in turn, on each figure that passed, on the movements of birds and
dogs, watching the sunlight glisten on the grass, burnish the copper
beeches, the lime-trees, and those tall poplars down there by the water.
The doctor at Mildenham, once consulted on a bout of headache, had called
her eyes "perfect organs," and certainly no eyes could take things in
more swiftly or completely. She was attractive to dogs, and every now
and then one would stop, in two minds whether or no to put his nose into
this foreign girl's hand. From a flirtation of eyes with a great Dane,
she looked up and saw Fiorsen passing, in company with a shorter, square
man, having very fashionable trousers and a corseted waist. The
violinist's tall, thin, loping figure was tightly buttoned into a
brownish-grey frock-coat suit; he wore a rather broad-brimmed, grey,
velvety hat; in his buttonhole was a white flower; his cloth-topped boots
were of patent leather; his tie was bunched out at the ends over a soft
white-linen shirt--altogether quite a dandy! His most strange eyes
suddenly swept down on hers, and he made a movement as if to put his hand
to his hat.

'Why, he remembers me,' thought Gyp. That thin-waisted figure with head
set just a little forward between rather high shoulders, and its long
stride, curiously suggested a leopard or some lithe creature. He touched
his short companion's arm, muttered something, turned round, and came
back. She could see him staring her way, and knew he was coming simply
to look at her. She knew, too, that her father was watching. And she
felt that those greenish eyes would waver before his stare--that stare of
the Englishman of a certain class, which never condescends to be
inquisitive. They passed; Gyp saw Fiorsen turn to his companion,
slightly tossing back his head in their direction, and heard the
companion laugh. A little flame shot up in her.

Winton said:

"Rum-looking Johnnies one sees here!"

"That was the violinist I told you of--Fiorsen."

"Oh! Ah!" But he had evidently forgotten.

The thought that Fiorsen should have picked her out of all that audience
for remembrance subtly flattered her vanity. She lost her ruffled
feeling. Though her father thought his dress awful, it was really rather
becoming. He would not have looked as well in proper English clothes.
Once, at least, during the next two days, she noticed the short, square
young man who h