It must be wonderful to
dance out of doors; and the grass is nice and hard now. Only, I suppose
it would shock the servants. Do they look out this way?" Gyp shook her
head. "I could dance over there in front of the drawing-room window.
Only it would have to be moonlight. I could come any Sunday. I've got a
dance where I'm supposed to be a lotus flower--that would do splendidly.
And there's my real moonlight dance that goes to Chopin. I could bring
my dresses, and change in the music-room, couldn't I?" She wriggled up,
and sat cross-legged, gazing at Gyp, and clasping her hands. "Oh, may
I?"
Her excitement infected Gyp. A desire to give pleasure, the queerness of
the notion, and her real love of seeing this girl dance, made her say:
"Yes; next Sunday."
Daphne Wing got up, made a rush, and kissed her. Her mouth was soft,
and she smelled of orange blossom; but Gyp recoiled a little--she hated
promiscuous kisses. Somewhat abashed, Miss Daphne hung her head, and
said:
"You did look so lovely; I couldn't help it, really."
And Gyp gave her hand the squeeze of compunction.
They went indoors, to try over the music of the two dances; and soon
after Daphne Wing departed, full of sugar-plums and hope.
She arrived punctually at eight o'clock next Sunday, carrying an
exiguous green linen bag, which contained her dresses. She was subdued,
and, now that it had come to the point, evidently a little scared.
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