her as well, beyond
what pride or meekness could put up with. She turned, and, running up to
the old man, put both her hands into his.

"I'm so awfully sorry. Good-bye, dear, dear Monsieur Harmost; I shall
come on Friday!" And, before he could stop her, she was gone.

She dived into the traffic; but, just as she reached the pavement on the
other side, felt her dress plucked and saw Fiorsen just behind her. She
shook herself free and walked swiftly on. Was he going to make a scene
in the street? Again he caught her arm. She stopped dead, faced round
on him, and said, in an icy voice:

"Please don't make scenes in the street, and don't follow me like this.
If you want to talk to me, you can--at home."

Then, very calmly, she turned and walked on. But he was still following
her, some paces off. She did not quicken her steps, and to the first
taxicab driver that passed she made a sign, and saying:

"Bury Street--quick!" got in. She saw Fiorsen rush forward, too late to
stop her. He threw up his hand and stood still, his face deadly white
under his broad-brimmed hat. She was far too angry and upset to care.

From the moment she turned to the window at Monsieur Harmost's, she had
determined to go to her father's. She would not go back to Fiorsen; and
the one thought that filled her mind was how to get Betty and her baby.
Nearly four! Dad was almost sure to be at his club. And leaning out,
she said: "No; Hyde Park Corner, please."

The hall porter, who knew her, after calling to a page-boy: "Major
Winton--sharp, now!" came specially out of his box to offer her a seat
and The Times.

Gyp sat with it on her knee, vaguely taking in her surroundings--a thin
old gentleman anxiously weighing himself in a corner, a white-calved
footman crossing with a tea-tray; a number of hats on pegs; the
green-baize board with its white rows of tapelike paper, and three
members standing before it. One of them, a tall, stout,
good-humoured-looking man in pince-nez and a white waistcoat, becoming
conscious, removed his straw hat and took up a position whence, without
staring, he could gaze at her; and Gyp knew, without ever seeming to
glance at him, that he found her to his liking. She saw her father's
unhurried figure passing that little group, all of whom were conscious
now, and eager to get away out of this sanctum of masculinity, she met
him at the top of the low steps, and said:

"I want to talk to you, Dad."

He ga