A hard, natural fact is needed to bring a yearning and bewildered spirit
to knowledge of the truth. Disillusionment is not welcome to a woman's
heart; the less welcome when it is disillusionment with self as much
as with another. Her great dedication--her scheme of life! She had been
going to--what?--save Fiorsen from himself! It was laughable. She had
only lost herself. Already she felt in prison, and by a child would be
all the more bound. To some women, the knowledge that a thing must be
brings assuagement of the nerves. Gyp was the opposite of those. To
force her was the way to stiver up every contrary emotion. She might
will herself to acquiesce, but--one cannot change one's nature.
And so, while the pigeons cooed and the sunlight warmed her feet, she
spent the bitterest moments of her life--so far. Pride came to her help.
She had made a miserable mess of it, but no one must know--certainly not
her father, who had warned her so desperately! She had made her bed, and
she would have to lie on it.
When Winton came back, he found her smiling, and said:
"I don't see the fascination, Gyp."
"Don't you think her face really rather perfect?"
"Common."
"Yes; but that drops off when she's dancing."
Winton looked at her from under half-closed eyelids.
"With her clothes? What does Fiorsen think of her?"
Gyp smiled.
"Does he think of her? I don't know.
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