ow would come back there to see if he
were gone, and he placed himself before a rose-bush, where, at that
reappearance, he could make a sign of recognition. Sure enough, he came;
and Winton quietly raising his hand to the salute passed on through the
drawing-room window. He went quickly into the hall, listened a second,
and opened the dining-room door. Fiorsen was pacing up and down, pale
and restless. He came to a standstill and stared haggardly at Winton,
who said:

"How are you? Gyp not in?"

"No."

Something in the sound of that "No" touched Winton with a vague--a very
vague--compunction. To be left by Gyp! Then his heart hardened again.
The fellow was a rotter--he was sure of it, had always been sure.

"Baby looks well," he said.

Fiorsen turned and began to pace up and down again.

"Where is Gyp? I want her to come in. I want her."

Winton took out his watch.

"It's not late." And suddenly he felt a great aversion for the part he
was playing. To get the baby; to make Gyp safe--yes! But, somehow, not
this pretence that he knew nothing about it. He turned on his heel and
walked out. It imperilled everything; but he couldn't help it. He could
not stay and go on prevaricating like this. Had that woman got clear?
He went back into the drawing-room. There they were--just passing the
side of the house. Five minutes, and they would be down at the turning.
He stood at the window, waiting. If only that fellow did not come in!
Through the partition wall he could hear him still tramping up and down
the dining-room. What a long time a minute was! Three had gone when he
heard the dining-room door opened, and Fiorsen crossing the hall to the
front door. What was he after, standing there as if listening? And
suddenly he heard him sigh. It was just such a sound as many times, in
the long-past days, had escaped himself, waiting, listening for
footsteps, in parched and sickening anxiety. Did this fellow then really
love--almost as he had loved? And in revolt at spying on him like this,
he advanced and said:

"Well, I won't wait any longer."

Fiorsen started; he had evidently supposed himself alone. And Winton
thought: 'By Jove! he does look bad!'

"Good-bye!" he said; but the words: "Give my love to Gyp," perished on
their way up to his lips.

"Good-bye!" Fiorsen echoed. And Winton went out under the trellis,
conscious of that forlorn figure still standing at the half-opened door.
Betty was