n my profession, one has to be so careful. Of
course, people think it's worse than it is; father gets fits sometimes.
But you know, Mrs. Fiorsen, home's awful. We have mutton--you know what
mutton is--it's really awful in your bedroom in hot weather. And there's
nowhere to practise. What I should like would be a studio. It would be
lovely, somewhere down by the river, or up here near you. That WOULD
be lovely. You know, I'm putting by. As soon as ever I have two hundred
pounds, I shall skip. What I think would be perfectly lovely would be
to inspire painters and musicians. I don't want to be just a common
'turn'--ballet business year after year, and that; I want to be
something rather special. But mother's so silly about me; she thinks I
oughtn't to take any risks at all. I shall never get on that way. It
IS so nice to talk to you, Mrs. Fiorsen, because you're young enough to
know what I feel; and I'm sure you'd never be shocked at anything. You
see, about men: Ought one to marry, or ought one to take a lover? They
say you can't be a perfect artist till you've felt passion. But, then,
if you marry, that means mutton over again, and perhaps babies, and
perhaps the wrong man after all. Ugh! But then, on the other hand, I
don't want to be raffish. I hate raffish people--I simply hate them.
What do you think? It's awfully difficult, isn't it?"

Gyp, perfectly grave, answered:

"That sort of thing settles itself. I shouldn't bother beforehand."

Miss Daphne Wing buried her perfect chin deeper in her hands, and said
meditatively:

"Yes; I rather thought that, too; of course I could do either now. But,
you see, I really don't care for men who are not distinguished. I'm sure
I shall only fall in love with a really distinguished man. That's what
you did--isn't it?--so you MUST understand. I think Mr. Fiorsen is
wonderfully distinguished."

Sunlight, piercing the shade, suddenly fell warm on Gyp's neck where
her blouse ceased, and fortunately stilled the medley of emotion and
laughter a little lower down. She continued to look gravely at Daphne
Wing, who resumed:

"Of course, Mother would have fits if I asked her such a question, and I
don't know what Father would do. Only it is important, isn't it? One may
go all wrong from the start; and I do really want to get on. I simply
adore my work. I don't mean to let love stand in its way; I want to make
it help, you know. Count Rosek says my dancing lacks passion. I wish
you'd t