ic and his adoration, withal remorseful that she was
making her father sad. She was but little at Mildenham, and he, in
his unhappiness, was there nearly all the time, riding extra hard, and
leaving Gyp with his sister. Aunt Rosamund, though under the spell
of Fiorsen's music, had agreed with her brother that Fiorsen was
"impossible." But nothing she said made any effect on Gyp. It was new
and startling to discover in this soft, sensitive girl such a vein of
stubbornness. Opposition seemed to harden her resolution. And the good
lady's natural optimism began to persuade her that Gyp would make a silk
purse out of that sow's ear yet. After all, the man was a celebrity in
his way!

It was settled for February. A house with a garden was taken in St.
John's Wood. The last month went, as all such last months go, in those
intoxicating pastimes, the buying of furniture and clothes. If it were
not for that, who knows how many engagement knots would slip!

And to-day they had been married. To the last, Winton had hardly
believed it would come to that. He had shaken the hand of her husband
and kept pain and disappointment out of his face, knowing well that
he deceived no one. Thank heaven, there had been no church, no
wedding-cake, invitations, congratulations, fal-lals of any kind--he
could never have stood them. Not even Rosamund--who had influenza--to
put up with!

Lying back in the recesses of that old chair, he stared into the fire.

They would be just about at Torquay by now--just about. Music! Who would
have thought noises made out of string and wood could have stolen her
away from him? Yes, they would be at Torquay by now, at their hotel. And
the first prayer Winton had uttered for years escaped his lips:

"Let her be happy! Let her be happy!"

Then, hearing Markey open the door, he closed his eyes and feigned
sleep.

Part II

I

When a girl first sits opposite the man she has married, of what does
she think? Not of the issues and emotions that lie in wait. They are
too overwhelming; she would avoid them while she can. Gyp thought of her
frock, a mushroom-coloured velvet cord. Not many girls of her class are
married without "fal-lals," as Winton had called them. Not many girls
sit in the corner of their reserved first-class compartments without
the excitement of having been supreme centre of the world for some
flattering hours to buoy them up on that train journey, with no memories
of friends' behav