, of which Gyp would have disapproved if he had
been English. He wore a diamond ring also, which did not somehow seem
bad form on that particular little finger. His height, his broad
cheek-bones, thick but not long hair, the hungry vitality of his face,
figure, movements, annulled those evidences of femininity. He was male
enough, rather too male. Speaking with a queer, crisp accent, he said:

"Miss Winton, you are my audience here. I play to you--only to you."

Gyp laughed.

"You laugh at me; but you need not. I play for you because I admire you.
I admire you terribly. If I sent you those flowers, it was not to be
rude. It was my gratitude for the pleasure of your face." His voice
actually trembled. And, looking down, Gyp answered:

"Thank you. It was very kind of you. I want to thank you for your
playing. It is beautiful--really beautiful!"

He made her another little bow.

"When I go back to London, will you come and hear me?"

"I should think any one would go to hear you, if they had the chance."

He gave a short laugh.

"Bah! Here, I do it for money; I hate this place. It bores me--bores
me! Was that your father sitting with you under the statue?"

Gyp nodded, suddenly grave. She had not forgotten the slighting turn of
his head.

He passed his hand over his face, as if to wipe off its expression.

"He is very English. But you--of no country--you belong to all!"

Gyp made him an ironical little bow.

"No; I should not know your country--you are neither of the North nor of
the South. You are just Woman, made to be adored. I came here hoping to
meet you; I am extremely happy. Miss Winton, I am your very devoted
servant."

He was speaking very fast, very low, with an agitated earnestness that
surely could not be put on. But suddenly muttering: "These people!" he
made her another of his little bows and abruptly slipped away. The
baroness was bringing up another man. The chief thought left by that
meeting was: "Is that how he begins to everyone?" She could not quite
believe it. The stammering earnestness of his voice, those humbly
adoring looks! Then she remembered the smile on the lips of the little
Pole, and thought: "But he must know I'm not silly enough just to be
taken in by vulgar flattery!"

Too sensitive to confide in anyone, she had no chance to ventilate the
curious sensations of attraction and repulsion that began fermenting in
her, feelings defying analysis, mingl