sence
of mind, she knew that he was playing in the sitting-room, playing--at
what time of night? She lay listening to a quivering, gibbering tune
that she did not know. Should she be first to make it up, or should she
wait for him? Twice she half slipped out of bed, but both times, as if
fate meant her not to move, he chose that moment to swell out the sound,
and each time she thought: 'No, I can't. It's just the same now; he
doesn't care how many people he wakes up. He does just what he likes,
and cares nothing for anyone.' And covering her ears with her hands, she
continued to lie motionless.

When she withdrew her hands at last, he had stopped. Then she heard him
coming, and feigned sleep. But he did not spare even sleep. She
submitted to his kisses without a word, her heart hardening within
her--surely he smelled of brandy! Next morning he seemed to have
forgotten it all. But Gyp had not. She wanted badly to know what he had
felt, where he had gone, but was too proud to ask.

She wrote twice to her father in the first week, but afterwards, except
for a postcard now and then, she never could. Why tell him what she was
doing, in company of one whom he could not bear to think of? Had he been
right? To confess that would hurt her pride too much. But she began to
long for London. The thought of her little house was a green spot to
dwell on. When they were settled in, and could do what they liked
without anxiety about people's feelings, it would be all right perhaps.
When he could start again really working, and she helping him, all would
be different. Her new house, and so much to do; her new garden, and
fruit-trees coming into blossom! She would have dogs and cats, would
ride when Dad was in town. Aunt Rosamund would come, friends, evenings
of music, dances still, perhaps--he danced beautifully, and loved it, as
she did. And his concerts--the elation of being identified with his
success! But, above all, the excitement of making her home as dainty as
she could, with daring experiments in form and colour. And yet, at heart
she knew that to be already looking forward, banning the present, was a
bad sign.

One thing, at all events, she enjoyed--sailing. They had blue days when
even the March sun was warm, and there was just breeze enough. He got on
excellently well with the old salt whose boat they used, for he was at
his best with simple folk, whose lingo he could understand about as much
as they