As soon as you see me at the drawing-room window,
get ready and go. Eyes front, Betty; don't look round; I'll cover your
retreat! Don't fail Gyp now. Pull yourself together."
With a sigh that could have been heard in Kensington, Betty murmured:
"Very well, sir; oh dear!" and began to adjust the strings of her
bonnet. With nods, as if he had been the recipient of some sage remarks
about the baby, Winton saluted, and began his march again towards
the house. He carefully kept his eyes to this side and to that, as if
examining the flowers, but noted all the same that Fiorsen had receded
from the window. Rapid thought told him that the fellow would come back
there to see if he were gone, and he placed himself before a rose-bush,
where, at that reappearance, he could make a sign of recognition. Sure
enough, he came; and Winton quietly raising his hand to the salute
passed on through the drawing-room window. He went quickly into the
hall, listened a second, and opened the dining-room door. Fiorsen was
pacing up and down, pale and restless. He came to a standstill and
stared haggardly at Winton, who said:
"How are you? Gyp not in?"
"No."
Something in the sound of that "No" touched Winton with a vague--a very
vague--compunction. To be left by Gyp! Then his heart hardened again.
The fellow was a rotter--he was sure of it, had always been sure.
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