ceased, and fortunately stilled the medley of emotion and laughter
a little lower down. She continued to look gravely at Daphne Wing, who
resumed:

"Of course, Mother would have fits if I asked her such a question, and I
don't know what Father would do. Only it is important, isn't it? One
may go all wrong from the start; and I do really want to get on. I
simply adore my work. I don't mean to let love stand in its way; I want
to make it help, you know. Count Rosek says my dancing lacks passion. I
wish you'd tell me if you think it does. I should believe YOU."

Gyp shook her head.

"I'm not a judge."

Daphne Wing looked up reproachfully.

"Oh, I'm sure you are! If I were a man, I should be passionately in love
with you. I've got a new dance where I'm supposed to be a nymph pursued
by a faun; it's so difficult to feel like a nymph when you know it's only
the ballet-master. Do you think I ought to put passion into that? You
see, I'm supposed to be flying all the time; but it would be much more
subtle, wouldn't it, if I could give the impression that I wanted to be
caught. Don't you think so?"

Gyp said suddenly:

"Yes, I think it WOULD do you good to be in love."

Miss Daphne's mouth fell a little open; her eyes grew round. She said:

"You frightened me when you said that. You looked so
different--so--intense."

A flame indeed had leaped up in Gyp. This fluffy, flabby talk of love
set her instincts in revolt. She did not want to love; she had failed to
fall in love. But, whatever love was like, it did not bear talking
about. How was it that this little suburban girl, when she once got on
her toes, could twirl one's emotions as she did?

"D'you know what I should simply revel in?" Daphne Wing went on: "To
dance to you here in the garden some night. It must be wonderful to
dance out of doors; and the grass is nice and hard now. Only, I suppose
it would shock the servants. Do they look out this way?" Gyp shook her
head. "I could dance over there in front of the drawing-room window.
Only it would have to be moonlight. I could come any Sunday. I've got a
dance where I'm supposed to be a lotus flower--that would do splendidly.
And there's my real moonlight dance that goes to Chopin. I could bring
my dresses, and change in the music-room, couldn't I?" She wriggled up,
and sat cross-legged, gazing at Gyp, and clasping her hands. "Oh, may
I?"

Her excitement infected Gyp. A desire to give