l figure had disappeared
behind a column. Then she sat down again on the lounge, pressing her
hands to her burning ears. She had never till then known the strength of
the pride-demon within her; at the moment, it was almost stronger than
her love. She was still sitting there, when the page-boy brought her
another card--her father's. She sprang up saying:

"Yes, here, please."

Winton came in all brisk and elated at sight of her after this long
absence; and, throwing her arms round his neck, she hugged him tight. He
was doubly precious to her after the encounter she had just gone though.
When he had given her news of Mildenham and little Gyp, he looked at her
steadily, and said:

"The coast'll be clear for you both down there, and at Bury Street,
whenever you like to come, Gyp. I shall regard this as your real
marriage. I shall have the servants in and make that plain."

A row like family prayers--and Dad standing up very straight, saying in
his dry way: "You will be so good in future as to remember--" "I shall
be obliged if you will," and so on; Betty's round face pouting at being
brought in with all the others; Markey's soft, inscrutable; Mrs. Markey's
demure and goggling; the maids' rabbit-faces; old Pettance's carved grin
the film lifting from his little burning eyes: "Ha! Mr. Bryn Summer'ay;
he bought her orse, and so she's gone to 'im!" And she said:

"Darling, I don't know! It's awfully sweet of you. We'll see later."

Winton patted her hand. "We must stand up to 'em, you know, Gyp. You
mustn't get your tail down."

Gyp laughed.

"No, Dad; never!"

That same night, across the strip of blackness between their beds, she
said:

"Bryan, promise me something!"

"It depends. I know you too well."

"No; it's quite reasonable, and possible. Promise!"

"All right; if it is."

"I want you to let me take the lease of the Red House--let it be mine,
the whole thing--let me pay for everything there."

"Reasonable! What's the point?"

"Only that I shall have a proper home of my own. I can't explain, but
your mother's coming to-day made me feel I must."

"My child, how could I possibly live on YOU there? It's absurd!"

"You can pay for everything else; London--travelling--clothes, if you
like. We can make it square up. It's not a question of money, of
course. I only want to feel that if, at any moment, you don't need me
any more, you can simply stop coming."

"I think that's brutal, G