vey," and a good many
words besides from even the boldest and baddest characters. There
is nothing like a soft and pretty face and sympathetic listening for
seducing the hearts of "the people."

So passed the eleven years till she was nineteen and Winton forty-six.
Then, under the wing of her little governess, she went to the hunt-ball.
She had revolted against appearing a "fluffy miss," wanting to be
considered at once full-fledged; so that her dress, perfect in fit, was
not white but palest maize-colour, as if she had already been to dances.
She had all Winton's dandyism, and just so much more as was appropriate
to her sex. With her dark hair, wonderfully fluffed and coiled, waving
across her forehead, her neck bare for the first time, her eyes really
"flying," and a demeanour perfectly cool--as though she knew that light
and movement, covetous looks, soft speeches, and admiration were her
birthright--she was more beautiful than even Winton had thought her. At
her breast she wore some sprigs of yellow jasmine procured by him from
town--a flower of whose scent she was very fond, and that he had never
seen worn in ballrooms. That swaying, delicate creature, warmed by
excitement, reminded him, in every movement and by every glance of her
eyes, of her whom he had first met at just such a ball as this. And by
the carriage of his head, the twist of his little moustache, he conveyed
to the world the pride he was feeling.

That evening held many sensations for Gyp--some delightful, one
confused, one unpleasant. She revelled in her success. Admiration was
very dear to her. She passionately enjoyed dancing, loved feeling that
she was dancing well and giving pleasure. But, twice over, she sent away
her partners, smitten with compassion for her little governess sitting
there against the wall--all alone, with no one to take notice of her,
because she was elderly, and roundabout, poor darling! And, to that
loyal person's horror, she insisted on sitting beside her all through
two dances. Nor would she go in to supper with anyone but Winton.
Returning to the ballroom on his arm, she overheard an elderly woman
say: "Oh, don't you know? Of course he really IS her father!" and an
elderly man answer: "Ah, that accounts for it--quite so!" With those
eyes at the back of the head which the very sensitive possess, she could
see their inquisitive, cold, slightly malicious glances, and knew they
were speaking of her. And just then her partner