she saw him
under the trellis. She opened the door herself, and hung about him so
that his shrewd eyes should not see her face. And she began at once to
talk of the puppies, whom she had named Don and Doff. They were perfect
darlings; nothing was safe from them; her slippers were completely done
for; they had already got into her china-cabinet and gone to sleep there!
He must come and see all over.

Hooking her arm into his, and talking all the time, she took him
up-stairs and down, and out into the garden, to the studio, or
music-room, at the end, which had an entrance to itself on to a back
lane. This room had been the great attraction. Fiorsen could practice
there in peace. Winton went along with her very quietly, making a shrewd
comment now and then. At the far end of the garden, looking over the
wall, down into that narrow passage which lay between it and the back of
another garden he squeezed her arm suddenly and said:

"Well, Gyp, what sort of a time?"

The question had come at last.

"Oh, rather lovely--in some ways." But she did not look at him, nor he
at her. "See, Dad! The cats have made quite a path there!"

Winton bit his lips and turned from the wall. The thought of that fellow
was bitter within him. She meant to tell him nothing, meant to keep up
that lighthearted look--which didn't deceive him a bit!

"Look at my crocuses! It's really spring today!"

It was. Even a bee or two had come. The tiny leaves had a transparent
look, too thin as yet to keep the sunlight from passing through them.
The purple, delicate-veined crocuses, with little flames of orange
blowing from their centres, seemed to hold the light as in cups. A wind,
without harshness, swung the boughs; a dry leaf or two still rustled
round here and there. And on the grass, and in the blue sky, and on the
almond-blossom was the first spring brilliance. Gyp clasped her hands
behind her head.

"Lovely--to feel the spring!"

And Winton thought: 'She's changed!' She had softened, quickened--more
depth of colour in her, more gravity, more sway in her body, more
sweetness in her smile. But--was she happy?

A voice said:

"Ah, what a pleasure!"

The fellow had slunk up like the great cat he was. And it seemed to
Winton that Gyp had winced.

"Dad thinks we ought to have dark curtains in the music-room, Gustav."

Fiorsen made a bow.

"Yes, yes--like a London club."

Winton, watching, was sure of supplication in h