ways try to do the
Christian thing myself. Flesh passes; you never know when you may have to
take your turn. I said to my girl I'd come and see you."

"I'm very glad. I hoped perhaps you would."

Mr. Wagge cleared his throat, and went on, in a hoarser voice:

"I don't want to say anything harsh about a certain party in your
presence, especially as I read he's indisposed, but really I hardly know
how to bear the situation. I can't bring myself to think of money in
relation to that matter; all the same, it's a serious loss to my
daughter, very serious loss. I've got my family pride to think of. My
daughter's name, well--it's my own; and, though I say it, I'm
respected--a regular attendant--I think I told you. Sometimes, I assure
you, I feel I can't control myself, and it's only that--and you, if I may
say so, that keeps me in check."

During this speech, his black-gloved hands were clenching and
unclenching, and he shifted his broad, shining boots. Gyp gazed at them,
not daring to look up at his eyes thus turning and turning from
Christianity to shekels, from his honour to the world, from his anger to
herself. And she said:

"Please let me do what I ask, Mr. Wagge. I should be so unhappy if I
mightn't do that little something."

Mr. Wagge blew his nose.

"It's a delicate matter," he said. "I don't know where my duty lays. I
don't, reelly."

Gyp looked up then.

"The great thing is to save Daisy suffering, isn't it?"

Mr. Wagge's face wore for a moment an expression of affront, as if from
the thought: 'Sufferin'! You must leave that to her father!' Then it
wavered; the curious, furtive warmth of the attracted male came for a
moment into his little eyes; he averted them, and coughed. Gyp said
softly:

"To please me."

Mr. Wagge's readjusted glance stopped in confusion at her waist. He
answered, in a voice that he strove to make bland:

"If you put it in that way, I don't reelly know 'ow to refuse; but it
must be quite between you and me--I can't withdraw my attitude."

Gyp murmured:

"No, of course. Thank you so much; and you'll let me know about
everything later. I mustn't take up your time now." And she held out
her hand.

Mr. Wagge took it in a lingering manner.

"Well, I HAVE an appointment," he said; "a gentleman at Campden Hill. He
starts at twelve. I'm never late. GOOD-morning."

When she had watched his square, black figure pass through the outer
gate, busily rebuttoning tho