den, buy a melon, and carry it home without meeting any
but the most inferior duchesses in Piccadilly; on warm nights he could
stroll the streets or the parks, smoking his cigar, his hat pushed back
to cool his forehead, thinking vague thoughts, recalling vague memories.
He received the news that his daughter was alone and free from that
fellow with something like delight. Where should he dine her? Mrs.
Markey was on her holiday. Why not Blafard's? Quiet---small rooms--not
too respectable--quite fairly cool--good things to eat. Yes; Blafard's!

When she drove up, he was ready in the doorway, his thin brown face with
its keen, half-veiled eyes the picture of composure, but feeling at heart
like a schoolboy off for an exeat. How pretty she was looking--though
pale from London--her dark eyes, her smile! And stepping quickly to the
cab, he said:

"No; I'm getting in--dining at Blafard's, Gyp--a night out!"

It gave him a thrill to walk into that little restaurant behind her; and
passing through its low red rooms to mark the diners turn and stare with
envy--taking him, perhaps, for a different sort of relation. He settled
her into a far corner by a window, where she could see the people and be
seen. He wanted her to be seen; while he himself turned to the world
only the short back wings of his glossy greyish hair. He had no notion
of being disturbed in his enjoyment by the sight of Hivites and Amorites,
or whatever they might be, lapping champagne and shining in the heat.
For, secretly, he was living not only in this evening but in a certain
evening of the past, when, in this very corner, he had dined with her
mother. HIS face then had borne the brunt; hers had been turned away
from inquisition. But he did not speak of this to Gyp.

She drank two full glasses of wine before she told him her news. He took
it with the expression she knew so well--tightening his lips and staring
a little upward. Then he said quietly:

"When?"

"November, Dad."

A shudder, not to be repressed, went through Winton. The very month!
And stretching his hand across the table, he took hers and pressed it
tightly.

"It'll be all right, child; I'm glad."

Clinging to his hand, Gyp murmured:

"I'm not; but I won't be frightened--I promise."

Each was trying to deceive the other; and neither was deceived. But both
were good at putting a calm face on things. Besides, this was "a night
out"--for her, the first since her marriage--o