When they had greeted with that
pathetic casualness of lovers which deceives so few, they walked on
together past Buckingham Palace, up into the Green Park, beneath the
trees. During this progress, she told him about her father; but only
when they were seated in that comparative refuge, and his hand was
holding hers under cover of the sunshade that lay across her knee, did
she speak of Fiorsen.

He tightened his grasp of her hand; then, suddenly dropping it, said:

"Did he touch you, Gyp?"

Gyp heard that question with a shock. Touch her! Yes! But what did it
matter?

He made a little shuddering sound; and, wondering, mournful, she looked
at him. His hands and teeth were clenched. She said softly:

"Bryan! Don't! I wouldn't let him kiss me."

He seemed to have to force his eyes to look at her.

"It's all right," he said, and, staring before him, bit his nails.

Gyp sat motionless, cut to the heart. She was soiled, and spoiled for
him! Of course! And yet a sense of injustice burned in her. Her heart
had never been touched; it was his utterly. But that was not enough for
a man--he wanted an untouched body, too. That she could not give; he
should have thought of that sooner, instead of only now. And, miserably,
she, too, stared before her, and her face hardened.

A little boy came and stood still in front of them, regarding her with
round, unmoving eyes. She was conscious of a slice of bread and jam in
his hand, and that his mouth and cheeks were smeared with red. A woman
called out: "Jacky! Come on, now!" and he was hauled away, still looking
back, and holding out his bread and jam as though offering her a bite.
She felt Summerhay's arm slipping round her.

"It's over, darling. Never again--I promise you!"

Ah, he might promise--might even keep that promise. But he would suffer,
always suffer, thinking of that other. And she said:

"You can only have me as I am, Bryan. I can't make myself new for you; I
wish I could--oh, I wish I could!"

"I ought to have cut my tongue out first! Don't think of it! Come home
to me and have tea--there's no one there. Ah, do, Gyp--come!"

He took her hands and pulled her up. And all else left Gyp but the joy
of being close to him, going to happiness.

IX

Fiorsen, passing Markey like a blind man, made his way out into the
street, but had not gone a hundred yards before he was hurrying back. He
had left his hat. The servant, still standin