And it seemed to
Winton that Gyp had winced.
"Dad thinks we ought to have dark curtains in the music-room, Gustav."
Fiorsen made a bow.
"Yes, yes--like a London club."
Winton, watching, was sure of supplication in her face. And, forcing a
smile, he said:
"You seem very snug here. Glad to see you again. Gyp looks splendid."
Another of those bows he so detested! Mountebank! Never, never would he
be able to stand the fellow! But he must not, would not, show it.
And, as soon as he decently could, he went, taking his lonely way back
through this region, of which his knowledge was almost limited to Lord's
Cricket-ground, with a sense of doubt and desolation, an irritation
more than ever mixed with the resolve to be always at hand if the child
wanted him.
He had not been gone ten minutes before Aunt Rosamund appeared, with a
crutch-handled stick and a gentlemanly limp, for she, too, indulged her
ancestors in gout. A desire for exclusive possession of their friends is
natural to some people, and the good lady had not known how fond she
was of her niece till the girl had slipped off into this marriage. She
wanted her back, to go about with and make much of, as before. And her
well-bred drawl did not quite disguise this feeling.
Gyp could detect Fiorsen subtly mimicking that drawl; and her ears
began to burn. The puppies afforded a diversion--their points, noses,
boldness, and food, held the danger in abeyance for some minutes.
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