It's all fixed
for my coming-out. Oh, how do you do?" And with lips and eyes opening at
Winton, she sat down in the chair he placed for her. Gyp, watching his
expression, felt inclined to laugh. Dad, and Daphne Wing! And the poor
girl so evidently anxious to make a good impression! Presently she
asked:
"Have you been dancing at Count Rosek's again lately?"
"Oh, yes, haven't you--didn't you--I--" And she stopped.
The thought flashed through Gyp, 'So Gustav's been seeing her, and
hasn't told me!' But she said at once:
"Ah, yes, of course; I forgot. When is the night of your coming-out?"
"Next Friday week. Fancy! The Octagon. Isn't it splendid? They've given
me such a good engagement. I do so want you and Mr. Fiorsen to come,
though!"
Gyp, smiling, murmured:
"Of course we will. My father loves dancing, too; don't you, Dad?"
Winton took his cigar from his mouth.
"When it's good," he said, urbanely.
"Oh, mine IS good; isn't it, Mrs. Fiorsen? I mean, I HAVE worked--ever
since I was thirteen, you know. I simply love it. I think YOU would
dance beautifully, Mrs. Fiorsen. You've got such a perfect figure. I
simply love to see you walk."
Gyp flushed, and said:
"Do have one of these, Miss Wing--they've got whole raspberries inside."
The little dancer put one in her mouth.
"Oh, but please don't call me Miss Wing! I wish you'd call me Daphne.
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