e villas. Its commons and woods had remained unscorched,
so that the retired had not to any extent deserted it, that August, for
the sea. They still shopped in the Pantiles, strolled the uplands, or
flourished their golf-clubs in the grassy parks; they still drank tea
in each other's houses and frequented the many churches. One could see
their faces, as it were, goldened by their coming glory, like the chins
of children by reflection from buttercups. From every kind of life they
had retired, and, waiting now for a more perfect day, were doing their
utmost to postpone it. They lived very long.

Gyp and her father had rooms in a hotel where he could bathe and drink
the waters without having to climb three hills. This was the first cure
she had attended since the long-past time at Wiesbaden. Was it
possible that was only six years ago? She felt so utterly, so strangely
different! Then life had been sparkling sips of every drink, and of none
too much; now it was one long still draft, to quench a thirst that would
not be quenched.

During these weeks she held herself absolutely at her father's disposal,
but she lived for the post, and if, by any chance, she did not get
her daily letter, her heart sank to the depths. She wrote every day,
sometimes twice, then tore up that second letter, remembering for what
reason she had set herself to undergo this separation. During the first
week, his letters had a certain equanimity; in the second week they
became ardent; in the third, they were fitful--now beginning to look
forward, now moody and dejected; and they were shorter. During this
third week Aunt Rosamund joined them. The good lady had become a staunch
supporter of Gyp's new existence, which, in her view, served Fiorsen
right. Why should the poor child's life be loveless? She had a
definitely low opinion of men, and a lower of the state of the
marriage-laws; in her view, any woman who struck a blow in that
direction was something of a heroine. And she was oblivious of the fact
that Gyp was quite guiltless of the desire to strike a blow against
the marriage-laws, or anything else. Aunt Rosamund's aristocratic and
rebellious blood boiled with hatred of what she called the "stuffy
people" who still held that women were men's property. It had made her
specially careful never to put herself in that position.

She had brought Gyp a piece of news.

"I was walking down Bond Street past that tea-and-tart shop, my
dear--you know, whe