sh, acid
face were red, and in her green dress, and with her greenish hair (for it
was going grey and she put on it a yellow lotion smelling of
cantharides), she seemed to Gyp just like one of those green apples that
turn reddish so unnaturally in the sun. She had rubbed over her face,
which shone in streaks, and her handkerchief was still crumpled in her
hand. It was horrible to come, so fresh and glowing, into the presence
of this poor woman, evidently in bitter sorrow. And a desperate desire
came over Gyp to fly. It seemed dreadful for anyone connected with him
who had caused this trouble to be coming here at all. But she said as
softly as she could:

"Mrs. Wagge? Please forgive me--but is there any news? I am--It was I
who got Daphne down here."

The woman before her was evidently being torn this way and that, but at
last she answered, with a sniff:

"It--it--was born this morning--dead." Gyp gasped. To have gone through
it all for that! Every bit of mother-feeling in her rebelled and
sorrowed; but her reason said: Better so! Much better! And she
murmured:

"How is she?"

Mrs. Wagge answered, with profound dejection:

"Bad--very bad. I don't know I'm sure what to say--my feelings are all
anyhow, and that's the truth. It's so dreadfully upsetting altogether."

"Is my nurse with her?"

"Yes; she's there. She's a very headstrong woman, but capable, I don't
deny. Daisy's very weak. Oh, it IS upsetting! And now I suppose
there'll have to be a burial. There really seems no end to it. And all
because of--of that man." And Mrs. Wagge turned away again to cry into
her handkerchief.

Feeling she could never say or do the right thing to the poor lady, Gyp
stole out. At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated whether to go up
or no. At last, she mounted softly. It must be in the front room that
the bereaved girl was lying--the girl who, but a year ago, had debated
with such naive self-importance whether or not it was her duty to take a
lover. Gyp summoned courage to tap gently. The economic agent opened
the door an inch, but, seeing who it was, slipped her robust and handsome
person through into the corridor.

"You, my dear!" she said in a whisper. "That's nice!"

"How is she?"

"Fairly well--considering. You know about it?"

"Yes; can I see her?"

"I hardly think so. I can't make her out. She's got no spirit, not an
ounce. She doesn't want to get well, I believe. It's the man,