thing! When?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Oh, I AM glad I haven't seen him since! Oh, I DO think that was wicked!
Aren't you dreadfully distressed?" The least of smiles played on Gyp's
mouth. Daphne Wing burst forth: "D'you know--I think--I think your
self-control is something awful. It frightens me. If my baby had lived
and been stolen like that, I should have been half dead by now."

Gyp answered stonily as ever:

"Yes; I want her back, and I wondered--"

Daphne Wing clasped her hands.

"Oh, I expect I can make him--" She stopped, confused, then added
hastily: "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I shouldn't mind if he had fifty loves. Perhaps he has."

Daphne Wing uttered a little gasp; then her teeth came down rather
viciously on her lower lip.

"I mean him to do what I want now, not what he wants me. That's the only
way when you love. Oh, don't smile like that, please; you do make me
feel so--uncertain."

"When are you going to see him next?"

Daphne Wing grew very pink.

"I don't know. He might be coming in to lunch. You see, it's not as if
he were a stranger, is it?" Casting up her eyes a little, she added: "He
won't even let me speak your name; it makes him mad. That's why I'm sure
he still loves you; only, his love is so funny." And, seizing Gyp's
hand: "I shall never forget how good you were to me. I do hope you--you
love somebody else." Gyp pressed those damp, clinging fingers, and
Daphne Wing hurried on: "I'm sure your baby's a darling. How you must be
suffering! You look quite pale. But it isn't any good suffering. I
learned that."

Her eyes lighted on the table, and a faint ruefulness came into them, as
if she were going to ask Gyp to eat the oysters.

Gyp bent forward and put her lips to the girl's forehead.

"Good-bye. My baby would thank you if she knew."

And she turned to go. She heard a sob. Daphne Wing was crying; then,
before Gyp could speak, she struck herself on the throat, and said, in a
strangled voice:

"Tha--that's idiotic! I--I haven't cried since--since, you know. I--I'm
perfect mistress of myself; only, I--only--I suppose you reminded me--I
NEVER cry!"

Those words and the sound of a hiccough accompanied Gyp down the alley to
her cab.

When she got back to Bury Street, she found Betty sitting in the hall
with her bonnet on. She had not been sent for, nor had any reply come
from Newmarket. Gyp could not eat, could settle to nothing. She went up