orth trying.

An hour later, her cab stopped before the Wagges' door in Frankland
Street. But just as she was about to ring the bell, a voice from behind
her said:

"Allow me; I have a key. What may I--Oh, it's you!" She turned. Mr.
Wagge, in professional habiliments, was standing there. "Come in; come
in," he said. "I was wondering whether perhaps we shouldn't be seeing
you after what's transpired."

Hanging his tall black hat, craped nearly to the crown, on a knob of the
mahogany stand, he said huskily:

"I DID think we'd seen the last of that," and opened the dining-room
door. "Come in, ma'am. We can put our heads together better in here."

In that too well remembered room, the table was laid with a stained white
cloth, a cruet-stand, and bottle of Worcestershire sauce. The little blue
bowl was gone, so that nothing now marred the harmony of red and green.
Gyp said quickly:

"Doesn't Daph--Daisy live at home, then, now?"

The expression on Mr. Wagge's face was singular; suspicion, relief, and a
sort of craftiness were blended with that furtive admiration which Gyp
seemed always to excite in him.

"Do I understand that you--er--"

"I came to ask if Daisy would do something for me."

Mr. Wagge blew his nose.

"You didn't know--" he began again.

"Yes; I dare say she sees my husband, if that's what you mean; and I
don't mind--he's nothing to me now."

Mr. Wagge's face became further complicated by the sensations of a
husband.

"Well," he said, "it's not to be wondered at, perhaps, in the
circumstances. I'm sure I always thought--"

Gyp interrupted swiftly.

"Please, Mr. Wagge--please! Will you give me Daisy's address?"

Mr. Wagge remained a moment in deep thought; then he said, in a gruff,
jerky voice:

"Seventy-three Comrade Street, So'o. Up to seeing him there on Tuesday,
I must say I cherished every hope. Now I'm sorry I didn't strike him--he
was too quick for me--" He had raised one of his gloved hands and was
sawing it up and down. The sight of that black object cleaving the air
nearly made Gyp scream, her nerves were so on edge. "It's her blasted
independence--I beg pardon--but who wouldn't?" he ended suddenly.

Gyp passed him.

"Who wouldn't?" she heard his voice behind her. "I did think she'd have
run straight this time--" And while she was fumbling at the outer door,
his red, pudgy face, with its round grey beard, protruded almost over her
shoulder. "If you're going t