assed, perforce, away from the deserted house and returned
home; but all manner of frightened thoughts beset her. Where had he gone?
Why had he gone? Why had he not let her know? Doubts--those hasty
attendants on passion--came thronging, and scepticism ran riot. What did
she know of his life, of his interests, of him, except that he said he
loved her? Where had he gone? To Widrington, to some smart house-party,
or even back to Scotland? The jealous feelings that had so besieged her
at the bungalow when his letters ceased came again now with redoubled
force. There must be some woman who, before their love began, had claim
on him, or some girl that he admired. He never told her of any such--of
course, he would not! She was amazed and hurt by her capacity for
jealousy. She had always thought she would be too proud to feel
jealousy--a sensation so dark and wretched and undignified,
but--alas!--so horribly real and clinging.

She had said she was not dining at home; so Winton had gone to his club,
and she was obliged to partake of a little trumped-up lonely meal. She
went up to her room after it, but there came on her such restlessness
that presently she put on her things and slipped out. She went past St.
James's Church into Piccadilly, to the further, crowded side, and began
to walk toward the park. This was foolish; but to do a foolish thing was
some relief, and she went along with a faint smile, mocking her own
recklessness. Several women of the town--ships of night with sails
set--came rounding out of side streets or down the main stream, with
their skilled, rapid-seeming slowness. And at the discomfited,
half-hostile stares on their rouged and powdered faces, Gyp felt a wicked
glee. She was disturbing, hurting them--and she wanted to hurt.

Presently, a man, in evening dress, with overcoat thrown open, gazed
pointblank into her face, and, raising his hat, ranged up beside her.
She walked straight on, still with that half-smile, knowing him puzzled
and fearfully attracted. Then an insensate wish to stab him to the heart
made her turn her head and look at him. At the expression on her face,
he wilted away from her, and again she felt that wicked glee at having
hurt him.

She crossed out into the traffic, to the park side, and turned back
toward St. James's; and now she was possessed by profound, black sadness.
If only her lover were beside her that beautiful evening, among the
lights and shadows of the