y of present, pronounced her fit and ready to go home
when she liked. That afternoon, she was not so well, and next day back
again upstairs. Nothing seemed definitely wrong, only a sort of
desperate lassitude; as if the knowledge that to go back was within her
power, only needing her decision, had been too much for her. And since
no one knew her inward feelings, all were puzzled except Winton. The
nursing of her child was promptly stopped.

It was not till the middle of January that she said to him.

"I must go home, Dad."

The word "home" hurt him, and he only answered:

"Very well, Gyp; when?"

"The house is quite ready. I think I had better go to-morrow. He's still
at Rosek's. I won't let him know. Two or three days there by myself
first would be better for settling baby in."

"Very well; I'll take you up."

He made no effort to ascertain her feelings toward Fiorsen. He knew too
well.

They travelled next day, reaching London at half-past two. Betty had
gone up in the early morning to prepare the way. The dogs had been with
Aunt Rosamund all this time. Gyp missed their greeting; but the
installation of Betty and the baby in the spare room that was now to be
the nursery, absorbed all her first energies. Light was just beginning
to fail when, still in her fur, she took a key of the music-room and
crossed the garden, to see how all had fared during her ten weeks'
absence. What a wintry garden! How different from that languorous,
warm, moonlit night when Daphne Wing had come dancing out of the shadow
of the dark trees. How bare and sharp the boughs against the grey,
darkening sky--and not a song of any bird, not a flower! She glanced
back at the house. Cold and white it looked, but there were lights in her
room and in the nursery, and someone just drawing the curtains. Now that
the leaves were off, one could see the other houses of the road, each
different in shape and colour, as is the habit of London houses. It was
cold, frosty; Gyp hurried down the path. Four little icicles had formed
beneath the window of the music-room. They caught her eye, and, passing
round to the side, she broke one off. There must be a fire in there, for
she could see the flicker through the curtains not quite drawn.
Thoughtful Ellen had been airing it! But, suddenly, she stood still.
There was more than a fire in there! Through the chink in the drawn
curtains she had seen two figures seated on the divan. Something