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, Gyp."

"No, no; so many women lose men's love because they seem to claim things
of them. I don't want to lose yours that way--that's all."

"That's silly, darling!"

"It's not. Men--and women, too--always tug at chains. And when there is
no chain--"

"Well then; let me take the house, and you can go away when you're
tired of me." His voice sounded smothered, resentful; she could hear him
turning and turning, as if angry with his pillows. And she murmured:

"No; I can't explain. But I really mean it."

"We're just beginning life together, and you talk as if you want to
split it up. It hurts, Gyp, and that's all about it."

She said gently:

"Don't be angry, dear."

"Well! Why don't you trust me more?"

"I do. Only I must make as sure as I can."

The sound came again of his turning and turning.

"I can't!"

Gyp said slowly:

"Oh! Very well!"

A dead silence